The Nerevarine's Return
by J. APPLEGATE
Summary: Arenar Krex, reincarnation of the Chimeri warlord Indoril Nerevar, was chosen by the Daedric Prince Azura to defeat Dagoth Ur and the Tribunal and succeeded. Now, over 200 years later in the land of the Nords, he gets dragged into the Dragon Crisis and faces a threat unlike anything he's seen since his days in Morrowind. But he can't do it alone...
1. Chapter 1: Prologue

**AUTHOR'S FIRST NOTE: I changed this chapter's name from "Prologue" to "Chapter One: Prologue" because when someone leaves a review on a chapter it is shown under the wrong name. Example: someone reviews on Chapter Three. The website would recognize it as Chapter Four.**

**This change is purely to make my job easier. It will not in any major way affect the story.**

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE: PROLOGUE**

Time.

An unlimited amount of time had seemed like an amazing gift, once. Especially considering the negative effects Corpus tended to give those infected with it.

The truth struck the Nerevarine, Arenar Krex, much later.

It was not a gift. It was not a curse. It was…

Something else.

During his first three years of immortality Arenar stayed in Morrowind to help restore what had been ruined by Dagoth Ur. In time, he became restless and decided to stretch his legs and explore the heart of the Empire, which was also his home country, Cyrodiil.

He stayed in Cyrodiil for two years before deciding to move on. He spent a year in Valenwood, then another in Elsweyr. Black Marsh, however, contained nothing but swamps so thick and difficult to traverse through, so Arenar quickly traveled east towards the coast in half a year.

The eastern coast of Black Marsh offered Arenar his first true test since defeating the Tribunal. When he was a child legends of Akavir, the ancient continent that housed unspeakable horrors, had always intrigued him. Though it was difficult to find a ship and crew to take him there, Arenar eventually arrived at the mysterious lands.

After several months of sailing, the ship finally landed on the western coast of Akavir. Wishing to be the first of his crew to step foot onto Akavir, Arenar decided to take a rowboat and sail ahead of the others. The high tide destroyed his boat and marooned him on the island. The ship turned around and headed back for Black Marsh, as the crew didn't want to end up like the presumed-dead Arenar.

Arenar, wanting to make the best of his situation, began exploring the land. The stories of Akavir, unfortunately, failed to be accurate. Most of the species he met were surprisingly friendly towards him. The monsters he faced posed no more of a challenge than those of Tamriel. He never even saw a dragon.

Disappointed by his lack of adventures, Arenar eventually repaired his rowboat using lumber provided by the natives and, slowly, made his way back to Tamriel.

It was ten years before he returned to Tamriel, having arrived in the Cyrodiil port city of Leyawiin. It was there he discovered the events that occurred while he was gone.

Mehrunes Dagon had invaded Nirn and unleashed Oblivion gates across Tamriel. Martin Septim, the bastard child of Emperor Uriel Septim VII, sacrificed himself to return Mehrunes back to the Deadlands and to seal the rift between Nirn and Oblivion forever. The Hero of Kvatch, the man who rescued Martin and closed many of the Oblivion gates, vanished after entering a gate unlike any that had ever been seen before.

The Fourth Era had begun, marked by the end of the Septim Dynasty.

And that was only the beginning. The Empire, now without a descendant of Tiber Septim to lead it, was now run by the Imperial Potentate Ocato, previously the High Chancellor of the Elder Council. The Thalmor began to rise in power in the Summerset Isles, home of the High Elves. Black Marsh seceded from the Empire. Soon after, Vvardenfall and much of Morrowind was destroyed by the eruption of Red Mountain.

Arenar had thought it ironic that he had sailed to Akavir in hope of adventure and found nothing while a Daedric invasion had begun and ended in the continent he left. However, he had been distraught by the destruction of Morrowind, the closest thing he had to a home. He began wandering Tamriel once again, aimlessly exploring the lands, having nothing better to do with his immortality.

Months passed like hours; years passed like days. Wars occurred nearly as often as a full moon, though Arenar took no part in any of them, at least not willingly. More nations seceded from the Empire, which was weaker than ever from tension between it and the Aldmeri Dominion.

About two hundred years Fourth Era began, Arenar found himself on the Pale Pass, heading curiously into the Northern home of the Nords, the only country he had never explored despite his age.

Skyrim.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S SECOND NOTE: I re-uploaded the prologue because I decided to change the Nerevarine's name from "Ancano" to "Arenar" because I (later) remembered that Ancano is the name of the evil High Elf from the College of Winterhold storyline. Using a name generator for Oblivion I came up with Arenar. I am keeping the last name (Krex) even though it belongs to an assassin in the Dark Brotherhood. I like it too much.**

**This is my first fanfiction story, so I can understand you not being impressed. However, any reviews that can help me improve my story (such as using the correct tense of a word, I mix up past and present tense ALOT) would be greatly appreciated.**

**Shoutout to Aryk von Straln and his story "The Edge of Madness" as it inspired me to write this. I highly recommend reading it.**


	2. Chapter 2: The Pale Pass

**CHAPTER TWO: THE PALE PASS**

**Arenar**

Arenar had only passed visited the frozen north of Cyrodiil twice, despite his numerous years in the country. He had stopped in Bruma three days ago to pick up supplies for his expedition on the Pale Pass. The bearskin-cloak he purchased was barely big enough to fit over his heavy Dwemer armor and it did a poor job of protecting him for the fierce, cold weather.

"No wonder I've never visited Skyrim," he mumbled to himself. "It's so damn cold."

He held his gauntlet-covered hand in front of him and conjured a small flame. Arenar had a limited knowledge knowledge of magicka and an even smaller supply of it, but he knew enough to perform this small spell for a short time. Still, the tiny ball of fire did it's job to make him warmer.

_The Nords should consider themselves lucky they naturally resist the cold _Arenar thought. _Living in a snowy climate year long might also help a little_. Being an Imperial only made him more persuasive than the average speaker. _That won't help me when I freeze to death._

"Oh well," he sighed. "At least I will be in Skyrim by tomorrow."

* * *

After another hour of travelling the moons in the sky advised Arenar to find a place to sleep for the night. He reached for the rolled up tent on his back and cursed. Apparently he had torn it at his last camp earlier that morning. He sighed, annoyed that he would carelessly ruin his only protection from the even harsher night weather.

He wandered onward for a few minutes, wondering what he would do for shelter. He glanced to his left and noticed a far away light in the middle of the woods. _Who else would be out here? _Arenar thought. Hoping to find a fellow adventurer that would sell a spare tent, Arenar decided to explore the camp.

As he got closer to the camp Arenar realized there was more than one traveler. There were at least four small tents, each facing a large bonfire in the center of the camp. Farther from the fire was a large tent, though this one appeared to be more of a war room than a place to rest. Six silhouettes surrounded a table placed in the middle of the tent. Arenar couldn't make out there faces, but considering how tall they were and their shared accents he guessed them to be Nords.

"The scouts have reported no sight of any Imperial troops, but I still believe we should move farther south," a gruff male voice said.

As Arenar crept slowly towards the large tent to get a better view of the Nords he heard a different man say, "Tullius wouldn't look for me in Cyrodiil, regardless of how close we are to the border."

Hearing the man speak made Arenar pause for a moment. The man's voice had been booming and deep, but also something more subtle. Each word he spoke felt powerful, but in a way Arenar had never heard before, despite his numerous years.

"The Imperials have control of Falkreath Hold. It's possible that Tullius had-"

A loud crack rang out throughout the camp, rendering it silent. Arenar looked down and cursed at himself, for he had stepped on a rather large twig. Before he could retreat a group of about fifteen Nords, including the ones from the large tent, formed a circle around him, each armed with either a sword or a loaded bow.

All but two of the Nords wore helmets. One was a man with long, ragged blond hair and a small, trimmed beard that matched in color. His light leather armor was covered with a blue cloth. Looking around, Arenar noticed all the Nords wore blue somewhere on their bodies.

The other Nord that lacked a helmet had light brown hair that was of equal length to the blond's but more well-kept. Rather than a beard this man had a small goatee that was tightly trimmed. His armor did not appear to be very protective, it it was at all, but it did look much more comfortable in comparison to the rest of the Nords' armor. This, combined with his stance and the nervous looks the others gave him made this many easily recognizable as the group's leader.

The leader sized up Arenar, which was easy as he stood closest to the campfire. His hair was a dark chocolate brown that clung closely to his head, much shorter than either of the Nords. His beard stretched out across his entire face, but it was very rough looking.

Silence was all that was heard in the camp until the leader cleared his throat minutes later and spoke. "An Imperial, but he doesn't look to be one of Tullius's. Who are you?"

"My name is Arenar Krex. And no, I am not one of his men, whoever he is," he answered.

The leader's eyebrow rose up slightly. "An Imperial who doesn't know of General Tullius? Odd. I suppose you don't know who we are then?" Arenar shook his head. The leader lowered his steel sword and place it back in his sheath, prompting the others to follow his example.

"My name is Ulfric Stormcloak, and these are the true sons and daughter's of Skyrim, the Stormcloaks," the leader, Ulfric, explained.

_Must have taken you a while to come up with that name _Arenar thought.

"What brings you this far north of the Imperial City?" Ulfric asked.

"I have explored nearly every part of Tamriel, and further, with the exception of Skyrim. I planned to change that," Arenar answered.

The blond Nord snorted. "You must have stared traveling since you were a child to have seen so much."

Ulfric rose his hand. " Relax, Ralof. You don't have to be hostile towards him. He hasn't shown himself to be a threat...yet."

Arenar mentally kicked himself, as he often forgot he didn't look nearly as old as he truly was. After all, it was just a week after his twenty-fourth birthday that he had been infected with Corpus, over two hundred years ago.

Arenar opened his mouth to speak, but he was interrupted by the sound of another twig snapping. Then another. A symphony of cracks and snaps blasted around the camp from nearly every direction other than directly behind him. The Stormcloaks were equally confused as they glanced into the dark forest, unable to see what was making the noises. Only too late did Ulfric attempt to warn the rest of the camp.

"Imperials!" he cried out.

From out of the dark approached mounted horses, carrying men that wore red armor and wielded and assortment of weapons. Their numbers were at least triple that of the Stormcloaks, if not more.

The Stormcloaks brought their weapons back out, prepared to attack when Ulfric announced, "drop your weapons Stormcloaks. Fighting would be a suicide mission."

Reluctantly, the Stormcloaks listened, letting their weapons hit the ground before raising their hands up in a clear sign of surrender.

Arenar, who had dropped to the ground and partially out of sight, was trying to decide what his next move would be. On one hand he knew that he could easily overpower anyone who dared to attack him. On the other hand, he had no real knowledge of who the Stormcloaks were. For all he knew the Empire had a perfect reason to capture them.

He slowly began to crawl his way towards the outskirts of the camp, deciding it would be best to avoid being seen. Once he felt he was far enough away from the closest Imperial soldier he picked himself off the ground and charged into the forest.

"We got a runner!" he heard someone behind him shout.

"Dammit!" Arenar cursed.

As Arenar stepped back onto the frozen trail he stumbled in the snow, narrowly dodging an arrow that would have pierced his unprotected head. He faced the camp and saw he was being chased by four horses, three carrying archers while the fourth held an Imperial soldier with a torch.

Arenar charged blindly on the snow-covered path, unable to any farther than he could stretch out his arms. He could hear the Imperials getting closer, though luckily they all were horribly inaccurate, otherwise he would have been dead already.

Suddenly Arenar stopped, falling onto his back after running into a tree. _A tree, in the middle of that trail?_ Then the tree neighed, further confusing Arenar.

"Who is there?" A Nord asked from somewhere nearby.

Arenar didn't have a chance to answer. The Imperials had arrived upon the scene. From the torchlight he saw that he had ran into a horse. In front of the horse, pulling it forward, was a dirty-looking Nord with dark hair and torn, ragged clothes.

The Imperial holding the torch slid off her horse and approached Arenar, who was still lying on the ground. She, unlike the two other soldiers that followed closely behind her, had a dark tan and dark black hair that poked out from her helmet. Her armor was heavy, unlike the rest of the Imperials, which may have been a sign she was a higher ranking soldier.

When she finally stood directly over him she spat on his face. "An Imperial fighting for the Stormcloaks. How treacherous can you be?" she asked.

Arenar attempted to get off the ground but the two soldiers that had been following her grabbed his arms and legs to keep him pinned to the ground.

Slowly her steel boot rose over his face.

"I do not fight for anyone! I don't even know who the Stormcloaks are!" Arenar angrily, yet honestly, responded.

"You make me sick." Quickly she brought her boot down on his face, rendering him unconsious.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: For anyone who did not notice my message at the end of the prologue, Ancano had his name changed to Arenar as he is an Imperial, not a crazy Thalmor. Just wanted to clear that up in case you were wondering why the name was different.**


	3. Chapter 3: Alone in the Woods

**CHAPTER THREE: ALONE IN THE WOODS**

**Arenar**

Arenar awoke with a deep inhale of air, as if he had stopped breathing for a moment. His hand passed over his face, on which he felt a long scratch across his nose that stung, covered in dried blood. _Like I needed another scar_ he thought. The sun was in the middle of the sky, blinding him momentarily, but his sight quickly returned.

He found himself laying down in the snow, exactly where he had fallen before. The Dwemer armor he had been wearing had been taken, along with his sword, Trueflame. Arenar was shocked the Moon-and-Star ring was still around his finger and that the bearskin cloak was lying next to him. _At least they didn't take everything._

He rose up from the ground, grabbing the cloak as he stood. He equipped the cloak and raised the hood over his head to shield it from the wind. Arenar considered himself lucky that the weather had softened up since the thin clothing he wore under his armor was not very protective against the cold, neither were his small leather shoes.

He rubbed his face, which was still very sore from the impact it had taken. _Damn, that Imperial had some strong legs _Arenar thought. _Where are the Imperials? And the Stormcloaks? _Unsure of what he would find, Arenar wandered towards the camp.

* * *

If he hadn't been in the camp last night, it would have been hard to tell it was ever there. The fire pit's embers were cool, the tents had been smashed up into small pieces, and not a single person was in sight. A lack of footprints in the snow made Arenar question how many days he had been unconscious. _Why would the Imperials take the Stormcloaks but not me? It could have been that difficult to take me prisoner._

Then the signs made themselves clear. The amount of time he had been laying on the ground, having been left behind when no one else was, and all of his valuables had been looted from his unprotected body.

The Imperial's boot hadn't knocked him out.

"Damn," Arenar sighed as he rubbed the dried blood of his face with snow from the ground. "That bitch killed me." _No wonder I was so out of breath when I awoke, I haven't been breathing._

Normally when a person was infected with Corpus, their immortality had simply stopped the aging process, along with driving him insane and/or turning him into a bloodthirsty killer. Arenar's infection, however, had left him ageless and unkillable. He didn't know if this extra side effect was caused by the potion Divayth Fyr gave him or from being chosen by Azura to be the Nerevarine. He began to think about this discovery as he ventured down the Pale Pass into Skyrim.

* * *

The first time Arenar had "died" was when he traveled back to Cyrodiil after leaving Morrowind, over two hundred years ago. Earlier on the day of his first death he had helped a Dunmer woman with a rat problem, a quest given to him by the Anvil Fighter's Guild. After handling the situation to the best of his abilities they sent him to the harbor district in order to help Norbert Lelles, a shopkeeper that was having trouble with thieves. As he was about to enter Norbert's when a female High Elf approached him.

"Can you help me?" the Altmer asked.

Arenar shrugged. "Depends on what you need help with."

She pointed to a ship that was sitting alongside the port, it's name painted on the side: The Serpent's Wake. "I hired Huurwen to clear out my ship, but she has been gone for almost two hours now."

Arenar met Huurwen when he received his first assignment from the Fighters' Guild, though he didn't use a shield so her blocking expertise was lost on him. "What is she clearing out?"

"She's getting rid of the ghosts of my dead crew."

Arenar gave her a skeptical look. "Ghosts?"

She sighed. "It's a long story. Please, will you look for her? I'm worried that she is injured, or worse."

Arenar nodded. "If she is still alive, I'll bring her out."

He walked onto _The Serpent's Wake _and entered a door leading to the lower decks. He climbed down the ladder slowly, hoping he wouldn't alert the ghosts. A loud creak echoed throughout the entire deck when Arenar stepped on the floor. In the next room he heard a low moan.

_Well that plan's been blown away _he thought. Arenar drew his sword and charged into the room, slicing through the floating, green wraith. The wraith, completely unfazed by the attack, blasted a spell at Arenar. He dodged the spell by diving behind a stack of crates.

_Why didn't that work? _Arenar thought. He read a book in the Fighter's Guild that detailed how to fight the undead. It mentioned ghosts could not withstand attacks from enchanted weapons. He let his magicka flow into his hand, summoning a ball of fire in the palm of his hand. He blindly hurled the fire towards the wraith from behind cover. It hit successfully, destroying the ghost. _At least the book was partially correct._

Arenar walked out of the room into the adjacent hallway. As he passed by a door he heard a crash from behind it, followed by someone cursing quietly.

"Hello?" Arenar asked as he opened the door.

"Agh!" The woman screamed as she stabbed Arenar in the neck.

He collapsed onto the ground, feeling his blood flow onto his steel armor and fill his lungs at the same time. "Just...trying to help..." he spit out.

* * *

Back on the Pale Pass, after five hours of travelling, Arenar stumbled upon another camp, one that was also abandoned but much more recently. The fire pit was empty, but still it gave off some heat, so it must have been lit this morning. Footprints were scattered across the entire campground in several different directions, but the road revealed several wagon and horse tracks going in the same direction.

"Must be the Imperial's camp," Arenar mumbled. He continued to walk on the Pale Pass, following the tracks in hope of reaching a settlement of some kind in the next several hours before the sun set.

* * *

He coughed violently, spitting up blood as he did so. His eyelids slowly parted, then shut immediately when an intense pain throughout his neck caused him to shudder. "He is waking up!" Huurwen announced.

Arenar blinked again, unsure of where he was. The scent of seawater and the sight of the sun lowering beneath the horizon revealed he was back on the upper deck of _The Serpent's Wake._ Huurwen, the Altmer, and an Anvil city guard stood over him.

"What happened?" he asked.

"I was hiding in one of the sailor's rooms when you opened up the door. I freaked out, lunging out with my sword before I ever saw it was you." Huurwen answered while shamefully looking at the Abecean Sea. "Thought you were a ghost, though my iron sword would have been ineffective if you had been."

Arenar moved his hand over his neck, finding a blood-soaked bandage covering his wound. Farther down he felt the spots where blood stained his armor.

Arenar gave a weak laugh. "Kinda wish it had been ineffective."

"The guard brought you out here immediately after Huurwen came back out. Your lucky I know some Restoration magic, or else you would have died. Still, I've never seen someone lose that much blood and survive." The Altmer said.

"Yeah, I guess so," Arenar said in an unconvinced tone. He felt exhausted due to half the blood in his body now coating the outside of it so he closed his eyes. _I shouldn't be alive_ he thought. _  
_

A familiar presence appeared in his head._"But you are,"_ whispered a female's voice. He was surprised by the voice as he hadn't heard from Azura since his battle with Almalexia more than three years ago. _"You don't seem to be grateful for this second chance at life."_

_Azura? Are you here, right now?_

_"Most of my essence remains in Moonshadow. I only needed to send a piece in order to be here. Now, why are you questioning your survival? Are you upset that your life didn't end when that cowardly Wood Elf bled you out?" _Azura responded.

_Believe me, I am far from upset from being dead. But why did I survive? Did you do this?_

She seemed to ignore the question. _"You didn't survive. You simply... came back. The reason for this is that you are not done yet, not in Mundus. Someone decided your existence is far too important to be ended on this boat, though I have seen your fate. Death will eventually take you, but not today."_

_Can you tell me my fate? _Arenar asked curiously.

_"It is not my place to reveal what I have seen. However, I have a gift for you, though you won't be able to accept it for a long time," _Azura explained.

_A gift? Seems odd that a Daedric Prince would be so gracious._

_"Do not think this gift comes without a price,"_ she warned._ "You will only receive it after your heart has been shredded into small bits. And even then your reward will have to wait a while longer."_ With that cheerful note, Arenar felt her leave his mind.

_Small bits?_ Arenar thought uncomfortably. _Better be a nice reward._

* * *

After about two more hours of walking Arenar saw a village surrounded by a stonewall. The walls were covered with red flags, symbolizing the Imperial's possession of the small community. The tracks he had been following ended at the village's gate, which were now shut.

_The Imperials might be stopping there for the night _Arenar thought. _Maybe I should keep going farther north since they saw my dead body? _He looked up at the sun, guessing it would set within the hour. Not wanting to be stuck in the unknown lands of Skyrim at night without armor or weapons, Arenar decided to approach the gate.

_I'll just stay low and avoid as many people as I can. What's the worst that can happen?  
_

* * *

**RE-UPLOADED: After reading a review that mentioned how casually Arenar handled his death, I decided to change that. Plus I added a little conversation between the Nerevarine and his favorite (by default) Daedric Prince that adds a little foreshadowing.**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Originally I had planned for Arenar to enter the world of Skyrim the same way you would in the game, but after reading a review I decided to do it my own way.**

**To anyone who is annoyed that I had the Nerevarine do quests from Oblivion, I don't care. Write your own fanfic where he doesn't do that.**

**The next chapter will finally begin the story of Skyrim (with my own twists and turns included). I plan to use a mix of dialogue from the game and my own original dialogue.**

**Again, thank you to anyone who reads my story (hopefully you enjoy it too) and please leave reviews on how to make it better. This chapter shows how much a review can affect the story.**


	4. Chapter 4: A Night in Helgen

**CHAPTER FOUR: A NIGHT IN HELGEN**

**Arenar**

The two guards posted outside the town's gates, both standing on opposite sides of the massive doors, wore Imperial armor, which made Arenar worry that they were of the same group that captured the Stormcloaks. _If so, _he thought, _it'll be hard to explain why I am breathing again. _

One of the Nords raised his hand, signaling Arenar to halt. "Take off your hood," the guard ordered. Reluctantly, Arenar did as commanded. "What brings you to Helgen, Imperial?"

"Just trying to find a place to rest before the daylight's gone," he answered, thankful the troops didn't seem to recognize him.

The other guard shook his head. "We have direct orders from General Tullius to keep the gates closed until further notice."

"May I ask why?"

"No," the guard bluntly responded.

Arenar twisted the Moon-and-Star ring and, in a convincing tone, said, "if you are going to force me into sleeping outside in the freezing cold forest without a weapon, you should be decent enough to explain why."

The guard looked at his fellow Nord, who shrugged slightly. He turned back to Arenar and said, "Last night General Tullius captured Ulfric Stormcloak and some of his men. The prisoners were brought here to house them overnight. Early tomorrow morning all of them will be executed before any outside Stormcloaks learn of their leader's capture and attempt to rescue him."

Arenar twisted his ring again. "Well I have no intention of reporting Ulfric's capture to anyone, as I carry no preference of either the Imperials or the Stormcloaks. Besides, do you think General Tullius will notice one more person?" Both of the guards shook their heads, completely trapped in his rings power. "So are you sure I can't stay in Helgen for the night? I promise not to cause any trouble."

The guard on the left side of the gate waved him over as he unlocked it. "Keep your head down. If you stir up trouble we never saw you. Got it?"

Arenar nodded, a small smile spreading across his face as he continued to follow the wagon's trail. He looked at the ring on his hand, glad it wasn't stolen with the rest of his belongings. The first true sign of his status as the Nerevarine was when the Moon-and-Star ring failed to kill him, as it had done so with every person before him other than the great Chimer king himself. Prior to that trial the other signs seemed coincidental. The ring, once owned by Indoril Nerevar, boosted his persuasive abilities much more than his Imperial blood ever had. It also helped him reunite the Great Houses and Ashlander tribes in Morrowind.

Arenar tore his gaze from the ring and placed it upon his new surroundings. _So, this town is named Helgen. _ In comparison to the hundreds, if not thousands, of small villages he visited in his numerous years it was more of the same excluding the walls. A few small houses were separated by stores, but most of the buildings were constructed with lumber and had a hay-covered roof. An impressive keep built entirely with stone was the main attraction of Helgen. Posted outside the building were numerous Imperial troops and three empty wagons. Behind the wagons stood the executioner's block. _That's where the Stormcloaks will die _Arenar thought grimly.

While walking along the road Arenar found Helgen's inn, _The Hollybush._ He entered it to find the whole building packed with villagers and Imperial troops. Worried that an Imperial would spot him, he raised his hood over his head, partially hiding his face.

He sat down at the bar where the Nordic innkeeper greeted him. "Welcome to _The Hollybush_, Imperial. Don't think I've ever seen you 'round here before."

"You thought right," Arenar mumbled, glancing over his shoulder in an attempt to spot any soldiers staring at him. "I was in Cyrodiil up until last night. May I have a bottle of mead? Any kind will do."

The innkeeper reached down and brought up a small bottle. "Nord mead," he said while handing the beverage to Arenar. "I'm surprised you managed to get past the guards. The Imperials seemed highly unlikely to open the gates for anything, much less a single traveler. Of all the places to bring the Stormcloaks, it would be here."

Arenar finished off his mead and placed the empty bottle back on the bar. "So what's the Legion's problem with the Stormcloaks?"

The innkeeper's eyebrow rose in surprise. "Never heard of those rebellious Stormcloaks?"

Arenar shook his head. "Only recently."

The innkeeper sighed. "I guess Skyrim's problems wouldn't be very important to the people in Cyrodiil, huh?"

"You'd be correct," Arenar lied. He didn't actually know if the innkeeper was right or wrong, since he was in Hammerfell for the past five years, exploring it for the third time. He was only in Cyrodiil for three weeks before passing the border into Skyrim.

"Well the Stormcloaks, specifically Ulfric, refused to abide by the White-Gold Concordat. This annoyed the Empire, but they decided not to act. More recently Ulfric murdered High King Torygg in Solitude. The Empire didn't like that, so Emperor Mede sent the Legion in to capture him. Apparently to kill him too," the innkeeper explained.

Arenar wiped his mouth, having drank another mead while the innkeeper was talking. "What is the White-Gold Concordat?"

Again the Nord's eyebrow rose. "You must be drunk already. It's what ended the Great War with those damned High Elves."

"Oh yeah, that's right. Now I remember," Arenar answered gravely. Two hundred years worth of memories caused him to forget about the "treaty" between the Aldmeri Dominion and the Empire.

But he would never forget the Great War, as he was there in the beginning when the first major battle occured in Leyawiin almost thirty years ago. _More like the massacre._

As that was the place the only woman he had ever loved died.

* * *

Arenar slept comfortably on his soft bed, having rented a room the night before at the Three Sister's Inn. The Khajiit sisters had long since passed, but the name stuck. Lying next to him in his bed was a female Breton named Lielle.

She had long, black hair that clung to her flawless tan body and bright green eyes that perfected her beautiful face. He met her a few days before while traveling on the road, and again last night before entering his room. The attraction between the two of them was one that was undeniable, but still Arenar was pleasantly surprised when she asked to "stay" with him. Twice.

"THALMOR!" cried a voice from downstairs.

Arenar and Lielle rose up from the bed simultaneously, confused by the shouting. "What was that?" she asked.

"I'll check," Arenar said. He pulled on a pair of pants and grabbed Trueflame before poking his head out the door. _Nothing yet _he thought. He walked over to the railing and peered down at the bar.

Two High Elves and a Wood Elf made a circle around Ortag, the Imperial innkeeper. One Altmer wore black robes and a hood that hide his face. The other wore simple Elven armor, the same kind as the Bosmer. All three of them were armed with a steel sword in one hand and magic in the other.

"Surrender if you value your life," the hooded High Elf barked.

"To Oblivion with you, knife-ear!" Ortag screamed.

The elf ran his blade through Ortag's abdomen. He fell to the floor, clutching his fatal wound that bled freely. In seconds he was dead. "That will teach you to respect your betters," the Altmer said, spitting on Ortag's corpse.

_What's going on? _Arenar thought. He stepped forward, kicking a bucket he failed to notice. Immediately all three elves stared at him with their cold, merciless eyes. The armored Altmer's glaring was especially unnerving with a deep scar across his left eye.

"Throw down your blade if you want to leave this place alive," the hooded elf ordered.

"No," Arenar replied. He leaped over the railing, landing directly in front of the leader. Before the elf could react, Trueflame passed through his heart, killing him almost instantly. The armored Altmer swung his sword at Arenar's head, but the Imperial rolled out of danger at the last second. From the corner of his eye Arenar spotted the Bosmer escaping up the stairs. _Lielle!_ He had to end this fast.

The Altmer's hand sparked as a lightning spell was unleashed. Arenar failed to dodge it as his full attention was given to the Bosmer. He yelped and collapsed onto the ground when the bolt hit him in his right arm, causing him to drop Trueflame as numbness spread out to the rest of his body.

"Should have surrendered," the Altmer gloated. He now stood over Arenar with another lightning spell charging in his palm. "Oh well. More Imperial scum, and anyone else who dares to fight against us, will die at our feet before we are done."

The elf crouched down, placing his hand over Arenar's heart. He smiled as he released the spell, shutting down the Imperial's vitals.

* * *

Hours later Arenar woke up, surrounded by flames. The Three Sisters' Inn was burning down around him. He glanced down at his chest where a black scar marked his most current death. Slowly he stood after picking up Trueflame from the wooden floor where he had dropped it.

Ortag and the hooded elf's corpses filled the building with a pungent smell that made Arenar gag. He climbed up the stairs towards his room, hoping that Lielle was safe. _The fire hasn't spread up here yet _he thought optimistically.

He passed through the doorway. "Oh gods," Arenar whispered, his heart filled with despair. "Those damned elves!"

Lielle's naked body laid lifelessly on the floor. A steam of blood had flowed onto the ground beneath her from the deep wound stretching across her throat. Arenar's Elven dagger he kept for emergencies was currently residing in her cold hand. _She tried to defend herself _he thought. _And failed._

Arenar stood there silently, unsure what to do. After a few minutes passed he remembered the fire, which was now closer to his room. He slid on his leather boots and tugged n his light coat. Deciding to leave his armor behind, Arenar snatched his coinpurse and left the inn.

And soon after, Cyrodiil.

* * *

"Hello? You there?" the innkeeper asked.

Arenar blinked, now back in _The Hollybush_ with another empty bottle in front of him. "I'm sorry," he said. "What did you ask me?"

"I asked you if you planned to rent a room tonight. If so, that will bring your bill up to twenty-five Septims," the innkeeper explained.

"Yes, I'll take a room," Arenar said.

The innkeeper placed a key down on the bar. "It will be the last room on the left. Arenar stretched out his hand to grab the key, but the Nord pulled it away. "I _said _that will be twenty-five Septims."

"My bad. I just have a lot on my mind right now." Arenar reached down for his coinpurse then cursed. _Damn Imperials stole that too_ he remembered.

Seeing no alternative, Arenar twisted his ring. "I already paid for my drinks and room, so can I have my key?"

The innkeeper nodded and handed Arenar the room key. "You did pay me. Have a good night."

Arenar stood up and walked to his room. He felt bad about robbing the Nord, but it wasn't his fault he couldn't pay. _He'll have to take it up with General Tullius and the face-stomping bitch__._

The room was nothing fancy. The bed was small and the empty chest available to hold any extra supplies was too small for anything more than a few clothes. But still, it was much better than sleeping in the snow.

He hung his cloak on the door and fell onto the bed. Arenar fell asleep almost immediately. He began to dream about Lielle, like he did almost every night. He visualized her tanned skin, her luscious lips, and her sweet voice.

And the cold stare she gave him from her dead eyes. Once they were bright and full of life, but not anymore.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Took me a while to come up with this. It was going to be longer but then I added the story of Lielle so the original ending of this chapter will now be the beginning of the next.**

**Special thanks to Aryk von Straln for letting me use _The Hollybush_ for the name of Helgen's inn. The original inn was never given a name in-game (as far as we know) so he used that name for his story "The Edge of Madness," which I highly recommend.**

**Please leave (helpful) reviews as they are the reason the story is far from what I originally intended. Unless you don't like the story, in which case why are you reading my note?**


	5. Chapter 5: Faces of the Past

**CHAPTER FIVE: FACES OF THE PAST**

**Arenar**

Arenar woke an hour before dawn with a crick in his neck from the hard mattress. His feet were sore as well, having forgotten to remove his shoes the night before. He sat up, stretching his arms as he did so. The torch that rested on the opposite wall was no longer lit, but the light from under his door illuminated the room enough to see.

_Better get out of here before the executions start _Arenar thought. He lifted himself off the bed, grabbing his cloak before opening the door. The giant room, once full of drunken customers, was now almost completely empty excluding the innkeeper.

The innkeeper looked up from the floor he was sweeping once Arenar passed through the doorway. "Up awfully early, don't ya think?" the Nord asked.

Arenar nodded as he closed and locked his door. "Trying to clear out before the executions begin. I imagine the entire village will be there today, plus all of the extra Imperial troops."

"Don't want to see those traitors die?" the innkeeper asked in confusion. "Are you a Stormcloak lover?"

Arenar walked up to the bar and handed his key to the Nord. "I have no preference of either side. Before last night I knew nothing about the Stormcloaks." He began tying his cloak around his neck. "I'd just like to get a head start on the road and avoid the crowd."

"Good idea," the innkeeper agreed. "Once the executions begin I doubt the guards will allow the gates to open, so now's your chance." He reached down and presented a mead from behind the counter. "Want one for the road? The closest tavern is a couple of hours worth of travel from here."

"I thank you for the offer, but I'll have to decline. Rather have my senses sharp while wandering around on unfamiliar lands," Arenar lied. He would have loved a drink but he had stolen enough from the man already.

The innkeeper shrugged and returned the beverage. "If you're wanting directions you'll need to ask someone else cause I've never left Helgen. The general store may be selling maps, but don't take my word for it."

"Thank you for your hospitality," Arenar said as he approached the exit. "And your information."

"Your money will always be good here Imperial!" the innkeeper yelled across the room as Arenar stepped onto the front porch. "_The Hollybush_ will be here if you ever decide to return!"

* * *

Helgen was still slumbering alongside it's villagers by the time Arenar left _The Hollybush. _The sun still hadn't crossed the horizon, but the sky was already beginning to go brighter as night turned to day. Only a group of about thirty Imperial troops huddling in front of the Keep accompanied Arenar outside. He cautiously pulled the hood of his cloak over his head to insure his identity remained hidden. The soldiers remained oblivious of his existence as they watched the executioner sharpen his axe.

Arenar eavesdropped on a conversation between the Imperials as he slowly strolled towards the northern gates. "I wonder who they'll kill first?"

"I'd imagine Ulfric will be knocked off first in case any complications occur then the other Stormcloaks will die afterwards."

"What about the other prisoner?"

"The horse thief? He'll likely be executed also in case he's a sympathizer."

"No, I meant the woman we picked up a few hours after the Nords were captured."

"Again, the prisoner will probably die as a sympathizer."

"But she was far from Ulfric's camp, and when questioned none of the Stormcloaks seemed to recognize her."

"It would be awfully stupid for the Stormcloaks to reveal one of their spies."

"But she didn't have anything incriminating on her. For all we know she was just a traveler in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Or she escaped the camp when we raided it and was on her way back to Windhelm to retrieve reinforcements."

"Perhaps. Still, we had no reason to arrest her."

"We had orders. If we are order to behead her like the rest of the prisoners, we will do it. Or else Tullius will condemn you with them for siding with the 'sons of Skyrim.' Understand?"

Arenar paused, reflecting on their words once he was too far away to hear anything else. _They'll kill a prisoner they presume innocent? What has happened to the Empire? _He thought. _Not if I can help it. But should I save the Stormcloaks also? _He was conflicted about his choice. On one hand he knew next to nothing about the "traitors" or their crimes. But Ulfric stood up for him that night in the camp even though Arenar could have been a bloodthirsty murderer.

_Lucky Nords_ he thought as he decided to free them.

Arenar turned around and examined the Keep, suspecting the prisoners to be residing somewhere inside. He crept quickly but quietly towards the Keep's entrance, not wishing to attract unnecessary attention from the Imperials. Once at the door, he discovered it to be locked. The soldiers still continued to look at the execution block, facing away from him. _I doubt any of them have a key._

His hand attached itself to the lock. He focused his magicka and let it flow into the keyhole. The spell began to contort until it matched the original key. An almost inaudible click alerted Arenar that the door was unlocked.

Fearing that the rusty door would expose him to the guards, Arenar opened the door only enough to squeeze into the building. As he suspected the interior was a combination of stone walls and wooden supports. Arenar stayed in the shadows whenever possible to remain undetected while sneaking through the Keep, but only a few guards seemed to still be inside. Instinct and extensive experience with barracks eventually lead him towards the dungeon.

After descending down a flight of stairs Arenar entered into a hallway with three jail cells along either side. Each cell contained three Stormcloak soldiers, though none seemed to house Ulfric. However, the fifth cell gave some promise when he found someone he did recognize.

"Ralof?" Arenar whispered into the tiny room.

The blond Nord looked bad. His hair was even more ragged than before and his armor was covered in mud and tears. He lifted himself off the floor and headed towards the Imperial. "Krex? Is that you?" Arenar nodded. "Didn't you die?"

"No," he lied. "That blow to the head did plenty of damage to me, but it seems that I escaped death.

Ralof gave him a skeptical look. "Apparently. But then why-"

"I couldn't find Ulfric in any of the cells. Do you know where he is?" Arenar asked in order to change the subject.

The Nord took the bait. "I'd say about five hours ago the Imperial captain who captured us dragged Ulfric farther into the dungeon, though I don't know why." Ralof reached out and pulled Arenar closer. "Ulfric must not die here. Not today, else the Empire will continue to force their damned laws on us."

"Perhaps you'll be able to assist me." Arenar pressed his palm against the door, attempting to use his magic to unlock it. Unfortunately his magicka reserve was too low to recreate the spell. "Never mind. I will need the keys to open the door."

"The captain had them when she took Ulfric." Ralof said. Arenar tried to pull away but Ralof had more to say. "Do you have a weapon?"

Arenar shook his head. "The Imperials looted me while I was unconscious."

From behind him Ralof produced an iron dagger. "Managed to get this past the moron who searched me." He passed it through the cell bars. "You better take it."

"I'll be back with Ulfric," Arenar promised after accepting the weapon. The hilt was caked in mud just like it's owner, but the blade was sharp and of good quality. He turned around to see the horse thief in the sixth cell staring at him. The filthy Nord obviously heard every thing as his facial expression screamed for mercy.

"You'll release us too, right?" The horse thief pleaded. Behind him, laying down on the floor, was another prisoner. Though her features were masked by the darkness in which she slept, Arenar assumed she was the female the Imperials captured after his death.

"Once I get the key you'll all be free." Without waiting for the horse thief to respond Arenar silently jogged down the hallway.

After a few turns the hallway lead Arenar into a large, poorly lit room he assumed to be a torture chamber. The Imperial captain paced back and forth in front of a cage suspended off the ground. Inside the cage stood a bruised and battered Ulfric Stormcloak. His clothing was torn in multiple places, each baring skin with bleeding cuts and scrapes. A black, swollen eye was the only damage on his face. His hands were bound together, and across his mouth was a rag, presumably to keep him from speaking.

"Look's like General Tullius has defeated the almighty Ulfric Stormcloak!" the captain bragged. She was too busy gloating to notice Arenar slowly approach with his dagger out, prepared to kill. Ulfric saw him, but quickly looked away so that the Imperial wouldn't turn around.

She whipped out her steel sword and poked it around in the cage to intimidate him, but failed to receive a response. "Tullius was instructed to kill you whenever the chance showed itself. He wished to bring you back to the Imperial City to give you a proper trial, but orders are orders. I personally will enjoy watching you die. If I had my way you would starve to death here since you don't deserve a quick death."

"Neither do you," Arenar said, pressing the small blade hard against her throat, "but that's what you'll get." The captain flailed her sword as Arenar dragged the dagger from left to right then pushed her to the ground. She spit blood as muffled curses flew from her mouth. Seconds later the curses stopped.

Her sword lyed on the ground next to him, so Arenar took it to replace the dagger. Not wishing to relinquish the dagger in case he needed it, he tucked it into a belt loop. The cage lowered back onto the floor and was unlocked by a key Arenar found on the captain's corpse. Ulfric's bindings were cut using the steel sword.

"I must admit I'm surprised to see you Arenar," Ulfric said once he removed his gag. "The horse-thief said the captain cracked your skull with her heel." Arenar opened his mouth but was interrupted. "Well, regardless of what happened, I thank you for saving me."

"You saved me from your soldiers so I owed you," Arenar explained.

Ulfric rubbed his jaw. "Damn, that was a good knot. Well, we should go collect my men and be off."

They walked back towards the cells in silence until Arenar couldn't contain his question any longer. "Why were you gagged? I would think they would want any information you could offer in exchange for your life."

"First off, I wouldn't tell anything to the Empire's men to save my life or anyone else's. Second, I assume I was muted so that I couldn't use the Voice against them."

"The what?" Arenar asked.

Ulfric chuckled until he realized it was a serious question. "You don't know what the Voice is?" Arenar shook his head. "It's an ancient magic that takes many years of training to use. Other than the Greybeards I am the only one gifted with this power. But they never leave that damn mountain of theirs."

"Can you show me this power?" Arenar asked curiously.

"Not very wise to use it if we plan to leave unnoticed, but if we get caught make sure you aren't standing in front of it," Ulfric said.

_Glad he could elaborate _Arenar thought as they entered the cell-filled hallway. He and Ulfric halted at the first pair of cells. From inside the room Ralof cried out, "Ulfric! You look terrible. At least some things never change!"

"You're one to talk!" Ulfric laughed. "I'd be in worse condition if not for the Imperial here. I guess even a few of the Empire's men share our ideals." He shifted his attention to Arenar. "I would like to formally invite you to join our plight. Normally we would swear you in under oath, but I want to get out of Helgen as soon as possible."

Arenar was stunned by surprise. _He doesn't know who or what I am, but wants me to fight in his name. _At first Arenar saw going to decline because he had no quarrel with the Empire. But after seeing how sick the Legion's men truly were, he made up his mind. "I shall join you," he exclaimed, shaking hands with Ulfric's extended arm.

From behind the horse thief cleared his throat. "How touching," he said sarcastically. "Now can you get us out of here?"

Arenar nodded and unlocked the door. The horse thief bolted down the hallway instantly. Ulfric removed the keys from the door and said, "I'll get the others."

The female prisoner, no longer laying on the floor, began walking towards him; still hidden by darkness. "Unlike the Nord, I am not in so much of a hurry that I can't express my gratitude. Thank you for saving us."

Arenar opened his mouth to speak, but he faltered. _I know that voice _he thought. _But it can't be..._

She finally emerged from both the shadows and the cell. "Do you have a weapon I can use? I'm good with daggers, but anything will work."

The Breton's features were unveiled by torchlight. Her long, black, silky hair laid freely across both shoulders. Her emerald eyes blazed fiercely upon her beautiful face, which like the rest of her skin had a tan complexion. She wore a thin blue jacket over a simple white shirt; her brown pants the same color as her shoes. The only noticeable flaw in her appearance stained her neck where a thin, pink scar stretched all the way across her throat.

Arenar's voice failed him while a state of shock froze him where he stood. Many times since her death he had mistakes several people for her. But none matched her exactly except for the prisoner that stood in front of him. He tried to dismiss the prisoner's appearance as coincidental. _The scar though..._

"Are you okay? she asked after a long, silent pause.

He blinked for the first time since he saw her. In a whisper Arenar finally spoke. "Lielle?"

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry that this took so long to get out. My computer's files were corrupted so I couldn't access my Internet for about two weeks. Luckily I wrote down the next two chapters while my computer was out of ****commission.**

**As always, please leave reviews on how the story can be improved. Or don't. I won't force you.**


	6. Chapter 6: The World-Eater

**CHA****PTER SIX: TH****E**** WORLD-EATER**

**Katjaa**

All of the cells in Helgen's dungeon held a single torch high upon the wall opposite each cell door. All but Katjaa's cell had a torch that was lit. The darkness didn't bother her, but the Nord she shared the room with did. When the Imperials found and arrested her about several hours earlier she was placed on the same wagon as him. Katjaa couldn't help but laugh when he promised to keep her safe. Unfortunately he didn't understand why and continued to, in his own words, "calm her pretty little Breton head." Annoyance towards the man quickly escalated before the journey to Helgen was over.

But, as if her captors sensed the torture that being in his presence caused, they were placed in the same cell. So far he had remained near the bars of the room, the only part partially bathed in light from the adjacent cell.

Strangely only a few guards had stepped foot into the dungeon since their arrival. The first time was a couple hours after they were released into the cells, when they were given stale bread and water Katjaa judged too filthy to drink. The second time, about an hour prior to the present, a high-ranking Imperial dragged the Stormcloak leader, Ulfric, away into a separate room.

The filthy Nord turned and strolled over to Katjaa, as if somehow sensing she had been thinking about him. The Nord sat down on the floor next to her and said, "you can take the bedroll if you want it. Can't have the delicate woman be uncomfortable on this stone floor."

She stole a glance at the ragged cloth provided by the guards to sleep on, laying close enough to the torchlight to be inspected. It appeared lice-infested and dirtier than the man who offered it. A rather large stain marred where her head would go; it appeared to be mud, but the smell revealed the lie.

"No thanks," Katjaa said. "You take it."

The Nord scooted closer to her, their legs now touching. _I better not catch anything. _He cleared his throat. "You never did tell me your name."

"You're right."

He laughed nervously. "Well I am Lokir." A minute of silence passed. "And you are..."

Katjaa sighed. "If I tell you my name will you go back over there and leave me alone?" Lokir nodded eagerly. "My name is Katjaa Amarie."

Lokir didn't budge, though luckily he remained quiet. _Finally, some peace and quiet._ Katjaa rested her head against the wall and closed her eyes. "Are you from Skyrim?" Her eyelids were thrown open and stared angrily at the bothersome Nord. "I'm from Rorikstead, a Whiterun settlement that borders The Reach. Lots of Bretons live up there, near Markarth. Most of them are Forsworn though."

_Why am I not surprised. _Katjaa opened her mouth to tell him off but a voice from outside their cell shouted, "will you shut up!" She looked up and saw the words belonged to a Stormcloak soldier in the cell across the hallway. "You will not be getting into her pants anytime soon. Or anybody's pants for that matter since we'll all be dead before tomorrow afternoon."

Lokir jumped up and ran to the bars. As he did so Katjaa got a better look at the other Nord. He had ragged blond hair that matched his beard and damaged armor. He looked tired, likely the case since it was roughly three in the morning. "Why will we be dead?" Lokir asked anxiously.

"The Imperial captain had been laughing her ass off about how nice Ulfric will look once his head falls into the pile of his fellow traitors," the blond Nord answered grimly. He locked his stare onto Lokir. "A pile that will also consist of all other prisoners here. Specifically, you two."

"Damn you Stormcloaks!" Lokir cried, slamming his palm against the wall. "Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and be halfway to Hammerfell." He turned around and looked at the Breton. "Katjaa. You and me - we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."

The blond Nord grunted. "Pray to Talos in hope that he shows you mercy, for General Tullius will not." He turned his back to Lokir and slumped against the floor.

Following his example, Katjaa scooted forward and pressed her back onto the cold, dirt-covered floor, facing the wall. Lokir continued to speak to the other Nord, but continuously failed to grasp his attention. _At least he isn't bothering me anymore. _Slowly she managed to block out the man's rambling enough to fall asleep.

* * *

Katjaa slept peacefully for hours until she was violently shaken awake. Her eyes fluttered open to discover Lokir to be the shaker. A foolish-looking grin stretched across his face, showing off what little teeth remained in his mouth. "We are busting out!" he announced joyfully.

She opened her mouth to speak but the blond Nord interrupted her by whispering, "keep it down! There are bound to be more Imperials somewhere in the building, and if you continue to announce our plans as loud as possible we'll be caught!"

"What's going on?" Katjaa asked once she shoved herself off the ground.

"A man named Arenar Krex is retrieving Ulfric Stormcloak and the keys to unlock our cells as we speak," the blond Nord explained in a near inaudible voice.

Both he and Lokir filled Katjaa in on the details while they waited for their rescuer to return. Apparently, Arenar was an Imperial (the race, not the soldier) that stumbled into the Stormcloak's camp two nights prior to their current imprisonment. He attempted to escape during Tullius's ambush but was stopped by the captain, knocked out and left for dead on the Skyrim-Cyrodiil border. After waking up, Arenar made his way to Helgen where he discovered the arrested Stormcloaks (as well as Lokir and herself). He decided to rescue them all from execution so he had sneaked into the Keep undetected.

As the blond Nord finished the story with Lokir pleading for help, much to the horse thief's annoyance, two figures entered the hallway from the direction of the torture chamber.

The one on the right she immediately recognized as Ulfric Stormcloak, though slightly more damaged than she remembered. His fancy clothes were now sloppy and blood covered, blood that appeared to be his own. His face only bore a black eye, yet the determined look on his face kept him looking like a proud leader.

The second man, however, Katjaa didn't recognize. _This must be Arenar. _His short, straight chocolate-colored hair stuck up in a few places, as if he had just woken up; his beard, though covering his entire jaw, was as thin and ungroomed and of the same color. Under his sky-blue eyes was a fresh wound across the top of his nose. It looked deep and would likely leave a scar. Regardless, he was still exceptionally handsome. The Nord walking next to him was taller but not by much. The clothes he wore over his muscular body were nothing amazing: a grey long-sleeved shirt that likely didn't keep the cold out, a bearskin-cloak with a hood attached, black pants, and small brown shoes. His left hand was clenched tightly around a small, indistinguishable object. The right carried a steel sword. From his waistline she spotted what was likely the hilt of a dagger.

And though she knew she had never met this man in her life, he looked strangely familiar.

Both Ulfric and Arenar stopped in front of Katjaa and faced the cell that housed the blond Nord. A smile spread across the Nord's face as he announced, "Ulfric! You look terrible."

Ulfric chucked and answered in his deep voice, "you're one to talk. I'd be in worse condition if not for the Imperial here. I guess even a few of the Empire's people share our ideals." The smile from his Nordic friend's observation faded. He adopted a serious tone as he shifted his focus onto Arenar. "I would like to formally invite you to join our plight. Normally we would swear you in under oath, but I want to get out of Helgen as soon as possible."

Arenar stared at Ulfric, now with an extended hand, but didn't respond. Katjaa was both shocked and surprised how long he was taking to accept the Nord's offer. _The __Stormcloaks seem a lot better than the Empire, at least to me. _She looked around at her surroundings. _Especially right now. _She opened her mouth to encourage him, but decided it wasn't her place to do so.

Eventually Arenar's hand joined with Ulfric's and they shook merrily together. "I shall join you," he said simultaneously.

Lokir, who had been watching the whole time from the cell's bars the whole time, cleared his throat to grasp the men's attention. "How touching," he said sarcastically. "Now can you can us out of here?"_  
_

_What an ass. _Katjaa, still standing in the darkened portion of the room, was unable to express how much the Nord bothered her through facial expression alone. Arenar appeared to be equally as annoyed by the impatient man, yet nodded and presented a ring of keys. _That must have been what he was carrying so tightly. _After a few failed attempts he found the correct key and unlocked the door. Before the key was removed Lokir charged at the door, knocking it open. He charged down the hallway and disappeared around a corner. She smirked while watching the cowardly Nord run away. _So much for protecting me._

Ulfric removed the keys from the door and said, "I'll get the others."

Katjaa slowly walked towards the Imperial. "Unlike the Nord, I am not in so much of a hurry that I can't express my gratitude. Thank you for saving us." She noticed Arenar's expression change from annoyed to confused but thought nothing of it as she entered the small hallway. "Do you have a weapon I could use? I'm good with daggers, but anything will work."

Arenar stared at her like she was a ghost. She saw from the corner of her eye that Ulfric was unlocking the rest of the cells while the two of them remained still, looking at each other in the torchlight. She subconsciously began counting each door open.

One door. Arenar's eyes stared uncontrollably into hers.

Two doors. His gaze shifted to her hair, combing it without restraint.

Three doors. He passed his eyes over her skin; she felt it prickle under his scrutiny.

Four doors. He sized her up, his eyes poring over her body as she shifted uneasily.

The fifth and last door was unlocked. Now the hallway was filled with all of the Stormcloaks. Ulfric began to make his way back to Arenar, but was having trouble squeezing through the crowd. Meanwhile Arenar still hadn't moved or spoken. Katjaa was growing more and more uncomfortable by his unending stare, which now focused itself on the scar on her neck.

Finally Katjaa spoke in order to end the silence. "Are you okay?"

Arenar's staring ended seconds later. In a whisper he asked, "Lielle?"

"Who?" Katjaa asked. _He must be mistaking me for someone else. That would explain the staring. _"My name is Katjaa."

He coughed nervously. "Sorry about that. It's just... you remind me of someone I knew a long time ago."

Katjaa wasn't sure by what he meant. _Longtime? He looks a year or two older than me. _From the group of soldiers Ulfric finally emerged, arriving between Katjaa and Arenar. "We are all set." He looked at Arenar. "Since you know the layout of the Keep better than the rest of us, you scout ahead and watch out for guards."

Arenar nodded and proceeded to push his way through the hallway towards the front of the group. Every couple of steps he looked back at Katjaa, who now held the iron dagger he had slipped into her hand. She pretended not to notice him, but found it more difficult than ignoring Lokir. He glanced over his shoulder for the fifth time, just as a soldier moved in front of his line of sight. _What an odd man._

The prisoners crept quietly through the Keep, being led to freedom by Arenar. The group paused whenever it waited for Arenar's signal that no guards were present. Katjaa trailed behind the rest of the prisoners in case they were caught and a fight broke out. Instinct brought out her dagger, drawn in preparation for battle. Slowly but surely the group made it into a large room that seemed to hold the Keep's exit. The room itself was roundish and lined with a stone floor. Leaning against the door opposite of the group was Arenar.

"The door back outside is right here," he said. His voice seemed peaceful enough, but Katjaa noticed his eyes were masking a true sense of concern. Arenar pointed at a door closest to the group. "But right there is an armory. I'd suggest arming yourselves before we leave, in case we encounter any resistance."

"You heard the man," Ulfric said as he approached the armory. "To arms!" As all of the Stormcloaks went for weapons, Katjaa remained still as she already had her dagger.

Arenar watched the soldiers enter the room, one-by-one, until he and Katjaa remained alone. He frantically waved her over. She jogged up beside him. "What do you need?" She asked.

"Look here," he ordered, pointing at a small hole that was present on the wooden door. Light shined through it from the other side. Katjaa pressed her eye against it and peered outside. A dirt road the wagons used to transport the prisoners into Helgen was likely what Arenar was referring to. In the middle of the road stood nearly fifty Imperial soldiers and their leader, General Tullius. He stood out among the men for his armor, as it was marked with intricate designs of the Imperial dragon. Otherwise nothing about him really popped out. His grayish-white hair glowed from the sunlight bouncing off of it. In his hand he tightly held Lokir's shirt. His mouth was moving, but whatever he was saying could not be made out._  
_

_Damn Nord! _Katjaa imagined the cowardly man was informing Tullius of Arenar and everything else that occurred down in the dungeons. _Why did you have to run! _She removed herself from the door and looked at Arenar, who was no longer hiding how worried he was. "Oh gods," was all she could say.

He nodded in agreement. "Damn horse thief's blown our only chance to sneak out of here." Arenar looked back at the doorway that the group had emerged from. "Perhaps there is another exit out of here through the dungeon?"

"Doesn't matter. Ulfric is likely the vengeful type," Katjaa guessed. "He'll want to attack the Imperials head-on."

Once the Stormcloaks returned into the room Arenar explained the situation to Ulfric. Katjaa wasn't surprised when Ulfric said, "wish we would have left the horse thief back in his cell." He drew out his sword. "Guess we'll have to fight our way out."

Arenar shook his head. "This is the same situation as the camp. Why would you surrender then but retaliate now?"

"I expected a trial for me and my men before," Ulfric explained. "Now I know we will either die from execution or in battle. At least in battle we have a chance."

Katjaa began to argue but Ulfric shoved her and Arenar aside and exited the Keep, followed by his soldiers. She sighed and prepared to follow the Nords but Arenar put his hand on her shoulder to stop her. "Stay behind me, okay?"

_I can handle myself. _Regardless she responded with a quick nod. Together they stepped outside, halting near the executioner's block at the rear of the Stormcloaks. Ulfric shouted from the head of the group, "Tullius!"

The general turned around, still holding Lokir. "Oh. Hello Ulfric," he said in a calm tone. "I guess I was wrong about this man being a Stormcloak supporter. Unless, of course, he was told to reveal your escape. If so, that is quite a poor plan." He threw Lokir onto the ground. "So where is this Arenar? All I see is Nords."

Arenar, followed by a reluctant Katjaa, appeared next to Ulfric a moment later. Tullius scowled at him. "An Imperial fighting against the Empire? You're more of a traitor than anyone else in Helgen!"

"You are a slave to a weak emperor who can't keep the Empire held together. Why would I fight for him?" Arenar asked.

Tullius ignored him and addressed Ulfric again. "Turning the Empire's men against it. One of the many crimes you have committed, and another you'll pay for." He withdrew his sword; his men followed the example. The Stormcloaks now also had their blades out. Arenar and Katjaa, who were previously armed, only watched as the tension grew higher.

"Will you surrender and make this easy? Or..." Tullius stepped closer, as did Ulfric. "Will you have to bleed out on the ground along side the rest of these traitors?"

_Gee, I wonder. _"I'll go with the second choice!" Ulfric yelled. He and his soldiers charged at the Imperials. The Imperials stood still in defensive stances, prepared for the attack. Arenar kept pace with Ulfric while Katjaa faded from sight and looked for a shadow to kill from.

The charging Nords halted when a loud, horrible, inhumane roar echoed throughout Helgen. Everyone's head jerked up, looking at the sky where the ungodly noise originated from. Even Lokir, while cowering in fear at Tullius's feet, now had his eyes on the early morning sun.

"What was that? One of your tricks?" Tullius asked Ulfric.

He shook his head. "I was about to ask you the same thing." _If neither of them caused the sound, who did? _

As if hearing her thoughts, the beast appeared from nowhere on top of the highest tower in Helgen and roared defiantly. The only thing Katjaa could compare it to was a reptile, as the two shared facial structures, a tail, and scales instead of skin; the comparisons stopped there. It was a massive creature; through balance alone the beast was able to rest on a tower four times smaller than itself. It sat upon the construction with thick hind-legs. Instead of forelegs it had long wings that were completely spread out, revealing what appeared to be the only skin it had. The scales were as midnight; the beast would be rendered invisible at night if not for it's red eyes that glowed with an intense hatred. _It looks to be focused on me._

Time was frozen in the courtyard of Helgen's Keep. Everyone remained still, in shock and awe because of the beast. It too did not budge. An eternity passed before one of the Stormcloaks spoke. "What in Oblivion is that?"

His words rang out loudly despite having been whispered. No sound had been made since the beast made it's appearance. _Well, if the stories are true..._ Katjaa examined the thing again. _Then it must be a-_

"Dragon," Arenar announced. Almost everyone gasped at the realization. Other than Lokir, who whimpered as a stain spread out across his pants.

Unfortunately this too alerted the dragon which now roared with even more hatred and power. The sky darkened and fiery boulders began to fall out of the sky, as if it had shattered and now rained down onto the earth. With each impact an explosion of fire and a large crater was created. _Oh shit! _"Scatter!" Katjaa screamed when she noticed one of the rocks was hurtling straight towards the massive group.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Wow. This was a "little" bit longer than I had expected. I went a little overboard when describing Arenar since he didn't have a proper description in Chapter One. Enjoyed writing for a new character. I will switch between the two whenever I feel a perspective change is appropriate****.**

**Also I decided to change how I write when a character is thinking. Personally I prefer it this way. Please leave reviews if you deem this chapter reviewable.**


	7. Chapter 7: Destruction of Helgen

**CHAPTER SEVEN: DESTRUCTION OF HELGEN**

**Arenar**

The dragon stared at all of them hungrily from atop its tower, focusing on no single person for longer than a second. Then it locked onto Katjaa and stayed on her for nearly a minute. _Did it just scowl? _Eventually it moved to Arenar, and again seemed both frustrated and annoyed by his presence. _Does it sense who I am? _He doubted it, unless Katjaa was also an immortal warrior that slayed several god-like beings.

During Arenar's time in Akavir he never saw any living dragons, though he did uncover evidence of their existence. Multiple times while exploring he had stumbled upon large circular pits that appeared to be some sort of burial mound. Curiosity had gotten the best of the Imperial, so the third burial mound he discovered was dug up. Underneath several feet of dirt he discovered skeletons too large to be anything else. Plus the wings helped to identify the decomposed creature. None ever matched the size of the black dragon in front of him. It seemed to radiate power, a power Arenar hadn't embraced since his days in Morrowind. He expected this dragon would be a worthy opponent.

From somewhere behind him a man asked in a low voice, "what in Oblivion is that?" _Should I tell them? Would they even believe me? _Nords were known to be the most reliable when it came to legends of dragons, so most, if not everyone, likely had an idea of what the beast was.

Still, Arenar couldn't help himself answering the man. "Dragon." The Stormcloaks and Imperials exhaled anxiety and fear in unison. The dragon, however, turned it's head to the side, as if surprised by Arenar's observation.

The dragon realigned its head and viciously roared, releasing a power unlike anything Arenar had ever seen. The sky color shifted from an early-morning grey to an odd yellow, and the heavens rained down fire and rocks upon Helgen. The ground shook violently in response to each impact.

"Scatter!" Katjaa screamed.

Arenar saw her run away from the road. He and the other soldiers followed the example, dispersing towards the other buildings that surrounded the Keep. The horse thief, paralyzed by fear, didn't budge. A painful screaming rang in Arenar's ears following an explosion where the horse thief had been seconds earlier.

A wave of energy knocked him and several other Stormcloaks into the dirt. A hand landed on Arenar's arm and began to pull him off the ground. He looked up and saw the hand belonged to Ralof. "We have to go!"

Arenar nodded compliantly. Once up they began running side-by-side away from the tower. "Where's Ulfric?" Arenar shouted loudly above another roar.

Ralof pointed in the direction they were heading. "Saw him go this way! Him and the Breton!"

Both men continued following Ulfric's trail until they spotted him enter a building not far from their current position. Arenar only realized the building was _The Hollybush _when he and Ralof stepped onto the wooden porch. They entered the inn quickly, slamming the door shut once inside. Arenar spotted Ulfric and Katjaa resting at a table near the entrance alongside an Imperial soldier, though all three faced the opposite direction.

Katjaa turned around first. "You survived!" she shouted. Ulfric and the Imperial now noticed the new men. Ulfric acknowledged them with a wave, but the soldier just seemed to frown. _Not happy to see you either. _

As Arenar approached the table with Ralof, he managed to form a weak smile. "You don't have to sound so surprised. I am just as strong as I look." He patted his Nordic ally on the back. "Plus I had Ralof here to cover my back."

The Breton returned the smile, but Ralof didn't seem to notice. He sat down next to the Stormcloak leader and without pause said, "Jarl Ulfric! What is that thing? Could the legends be true?"

Ulfric nodded. "Like Arenar said, it's a dragon. Besides, legends don't burn down villages."

Arenar took the seat next to Katjaa while she explained, "dragon or not, Helgen is lost. We have to leave soon or we're dead."

"No," Ulfric said, slamming his hand against the table. "I will not leave my men."

"Neither will I," Ralof said.

Ulfric turned to the blond Nord. "You have to leave and warn Galmar about what happened here. If I don't make it out then he will have to lead the Stormcloaks. If Windhelm isn't prepared for a dragon attack then it'll end up like this village."

Ralof opened his mouth to argue, but shut it and nodded. Ulfric knocked over the chair as he stood, removing his sword from the table simultaneously. He charged at the door, leaving it open when he passed through it. Arenar watched him the entire time and observed the events outside. The dragon was now flying around, breathing fire down on Helgen's people. Both the Stormcloaks and the Imperials had archers and mages attacking it, though every shot missed due to the beast's incredible speed. _Why is this monster here? _

Immediately Arenar blamed himself for the destruction. Several different books he had read throughout his travels mentioned that stronger beings had some sort of sixth sense for detecting powerful magic over great distances. _The magic that keeps me immortal must be strong enough. _

He lost concentration on the battle outside when he heard a door open from the opposite end of the room. The others heard it too; the four of them jumped up from their seats at the same time, prepared to fight anything that challenged them.

"Don't hurt me!" the innkeeper cried out. A door behind the bar continued to creak open, revealing a bedroom where the frightened Nord likely had been sleeping before the attack. He was now crouched down behind the bar, peaking out enough to observe who was inside the tavern. His eyes stopped on the only familiar face: Arenar's. "You. Imperial, what's happening?" He shifted his focus onto Ralof. "Why is this traitor not in the dungeon?"

"Why you little-" Arenar grabbed Ralof, stopping the man from taking a swing at the innkeeper. Once Ralof backed down Arenar informed the other Nord of the dragon and all the other activity outside.

"Oh gods," the innkeeper whispered. He whipped out a bottle of ale and chugged it without any interruption. He put the bottle down on the bar and asked, "what do we do now?"

Arenar shrugged. _That's a good question. _The Imperial soldier cleared his throat. _I forgot all about him. _He was a Nord of average height, though the lack of a beard was rare among his people. A leather helmet covered most of his hair, but what wasn't tucked away was revealed to be light brown in color and about the same length as Ralof's, though not as messy. His standard Imperial armor had a few burn marks on it, but otherwise was as generic looking as ever. A simple iron sword hung by his side._  
_

"If I may," the Imperial soldier said in a thick Nordic accent, "I believe I know how we can escape. But we would have to go back to the Keep."

Ralof rolled his eyes. "And why should we believe you?" he asked in a hostile yet personal tone. The soldier gave returned it with an equally aggressive stare. _They seem to know each other. _

He dropped the stare and sighed deeply. "Because I want to live just as much as you do. I'd have to be pretty dumb to use this opportunity to kill you."

"Nobody said you weren't," Ralof muttered.

"Please Ralof," the soldier extended his arm. "Can we put aside our differences long enough to ensure we don't die here?"

Ralof looked at the man's arm, then at his face. "You were a good man once Hadvar. My best friend since we were children." He reluctantly took Hadvar's hand and shook it firmly. "That is the only reason I will trust you with this." The handshake broke. "So what's your plan?"

Hadvar removed his helmet and placed it on the table. _Wow, he's really sweaty. Am I that sweaty? _Arenar's hand brushed across his scalp. _Yep. _

"When we first arrived in Helgen we had to check the dungeons; make sure they were in good shape before placing any prisoners inside." Hadvar paused and looked at the group he was talking to, snorting at the irony. "We didn't want anyone escaping. Guess that was pointless. Anyway, the integrity of all the cell walls held up, but a wall in the torture chamber has partially collapsed. Scouts were sent to explore a cave that runs under the Keep to confirm our belief that the wall leads into said cave, which it does. The cave's only exit leads to the road connecting Helgen and Riverwood, a small community that I call home."

"As do I," Ralof added.

"So you're proposing we escape through this wall of yours?" Katjaa asked.

Hadvar nodded. "Yes, but we'll have to get back to the Keep without being killed by that damned dragon. Our best bet would be to look for an alternate route that won't have us running out in the open."

"I agree," Arenar said. He turned his attention to the innkeeper, now standing in the middle of the room. "Is there a back door out of here?"

The innkeeper didn't respond until Arenar asked him the question once more. "Sorry, this is just a lot to register in such a short time. The building has no exit other than through the front." He turned and looked at his bedroom. "Wait a minute! There is a cellar that opens out-"

A loud crash interrupted the innkeeper, followed by wood and straw falling from the ceiling. Arenar looked up and saw the dragon's head had pushed into _The Hollybush_ through a hole it created. It roared down at the group of four, stopping only when it noticed the Nord directly underneath him. It lowered further into the room and picked up the man with it's sharp, jagged teeth. The innkeeper screamed in pain the whole time as the dragon withdrew itself from the room.

"So, does anyone want to check for the cellar?" Ralof asked. The menacing hole hovered above most of the middle of the room. To reach the bedroom they'd have to cross under it. The blond Nord was answered with silence. "Then maybe we should get going before the dragon returns for dessert."

They ran back outside through the front door together; Hadvar led them, followed by Ralof, Katjaa, and lastly Arenar. Helgen was even more chaotic than when Ulfric left the inn, despite Arenar only having looked outside a few minutes earlier. Most of the buildings had caved in and those that still stood were on fire. Only the Keep remained untouched, though likely not for long. Dead bodies consisting of both civilians and warriors lay scattered on the ground. The few soldiers that had been attacking the dragon long since have given up. They were now trying to evacuate the few remaining villagers through a hole in Helgen's wall. The winged beast seemed to attack this area the most, knowing it was the best place to cause the highest causalities.

"We should help them," Arenar said. He saw Katjaa nod in agreement.

"What are we supposed to do?" Hadvar asked. "Grow wings and fight the damn thing on it's own turf? There's no saving them. We can only save ourselves."

The group followed Hadvar through alleyways and backstreets to avoid the dragon's sight. It flew overhead, dodging the raining firebombs with ease. After a few minutes of stalking in the shadows the Keep's entrance was now visible. The horse thief's burning corpse was the only thing in their path, but with no buildings to hide behind the courtyard was looking like a deathtrap.

"It should be safe from here if we run fast enough," Hadvar assured them.

"Are you insane?" Katjaa asked. "Do you want to end up like Lokir?" She pointed to the body at the halfway point between them and the Keep. _So that's the Nord's name? Damn you Lokir._

"The dragon is occupied with the villagers. It'll have no reason to attack us." Hadvar pointed out. One of the falling boulders exploded next to Lokir's body, blowing one of the dead man's legs out of sight. The group sat there silently until Hadvar asked, "who wants to go first?"

"It's your plan," Ralof pointed out.

A nervous sigh escaped Hadvar's lips. He checked the sky for the dragon. "Well...here goes nothing." He stood up and burst into a sprint, constantly looking up in fear of the exploding rocks. A moment later Hadvar arrived at the Keep, swinging the door wide open and leaving it that way. _Wait, who closed that door? We left it open when Ulfric wanted to start that fight. _The soldier urged them forward from safely inside.

Ralof turned around and faced Arenar. "If I don't make it over there, kick his ass for me, will ya?" Arenar smiled and nodded. Ralof then ran all the way across the courtyard without incident, appearing next to Hadvar seconds later.

Katjaa looked back at Arenar. "You ready?" she asked him. Once again Arenar was thrown off by her appearance. He no longer had any doubt that she resembled Lielle in every single way. _Perhaps they are related. _He dismissed the thought. _She wasn't a mother and had no siblings._

He realized he had been staring at her for a whole minute before he responded. "Uh...yeah. Let's go together." They rose from their crouched position and took off across the clearing. Immediately the dragon roared from behind them, it's eyes locked onto both of them. Arenar looked back and saw the winged beast chasing them. It wasn't close, but soon would be. "Run faster!"

Things began to get worse once they crossed the road. Arenar yelped when he felt claws dig into his back. The dragon lifted him up with one of it's feet and began to climb higher above Helgen, circling the village while triumphantly roaring. A burning sensation spread through his body as he felt himself slowly slip out of consciousness. _I have to stay awake. _

He began assaulting the dragon in anyway that he could: banging his sword against the large leg mass above him, jabbing the toes that were lodged into his back, and overall being as chaotic as he could in his current state. He couldn't keep up the fight long and was forced to quit. The dragon seemed not to even notice that the attacks had occurred at all. _It's scales are __impenetrable._ Arenar looked up desperately to the dragon's upper leg, expecting to find nothing helpful. A chink in it's scales, revealing vulnerable flesh, showed promise. Arenar lodged his steel sword into the weak spot.

The dragon seemed to not feel the pain, but it did slightly falter along it's flight path. Arenar stabbed the monster again, this time receiving a response in the shape of an annoyed roar. His grip started to loosen from the hilt of his sword and his eyes continued to grow heavier. Fueled by anger, Arenar shoved the blade deeper into the beast; his wrist now inside as well.

It shrieked at him and released it's grasp, dropping Arenar while in the air. He free fell back to the ground, which luckily the dragon was near. Unfortunately he landed roughly on his left leg and heard a snap. "Damn!" he screamed aloud, collapsing next to Lokir.

"Arenar!" Katjaa screamed from within the Keep. He looked up and saw her running towards him. She feel to her knees beside him. "Oh gods! When it picked you up I thought you-" her eyes darted to his leg and her face slightly turned a greenish color "-were... dead. Oh Talos, that shouldn't be poking out."

He shot his arm up. "Can you help me?" he asked. She grabbed his arm and lifted him off the ground. Arenar winced when he put pressure on his leg. He glanced down at the tear in his pants and saw a bone pushing through his skin; blood covered his pant leg and shoe while it slowly gushed out of the injury. "Yeah, that's not good."

* * *

**UPDATED: I extended the part where Arenar was picked up by Alduin. Added more details that will be intricate to the story later on.**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: This chapter was originally about twice the size since I had a perspective switch to Katjaa after Arenar's leg injury. However I decided to split the chapter into two separate ones. I am trying to find a consistency in length of chapters, but so far I am failing miserably. Oh well, more content for you to read.**

**A quick question for anyone who can answer it. When (story wise) is Alduin revealed to have returned by name? Or is it immediately assumed to be him since it's his return that marks the end of times? I am not sure either way, so any clarification would be appreciated.**

**As always (though no one's been listening), please leave reviews. I personally enjoy reading them (even when I disagree) and they motivate me to keep writing. The last actual review I've received was all the way back in Chapter Three, so lately other than having already written the chapter and just needing to type it, I've had no real motivation. So as a favor to me, please review. Next chapter will be released sometime next week.**


	8. Chapter 8: Escaping Helgen

**CHA****PTER EIGHT: ESCAPING HELGEN****  
**

**Katjaa**

Katjaa was a little sickened by Arenar's gruesome wound, but she was still glad the dragon hadn't kept him. She never expected to see him again when he flew over her head in the beast's grasp. Still, he hadn't walked away unharmed. _He may not even walk right ever again._

He balanced on her left shoulder as they made their way into the Keep. The pace they walked at was slow, but the dragon went back to attacking the fleeing villagers after dropping Arenar. Ralof and Hadvar were anxiously waiting by the door. _They could have helped. _She decided not to say anything since the Nords could have fled with no problem. "Shut the door!" Arenar ordered as Katjaa carried him through the doorway.

Katjaa propped him against a wall and helped Hadvar secure the entrance. Meanwhile Ralof was scouring the armory for a first-aid kit. Once the door was shut and locked she looked through one of the holes in the door and was appalled by the sight. Every person outside was either dead or still attempt to escape through the village's collapsed wall. The dragon still continued to circle Helgen, picking off anything it can.

A low hum and bright light from behind caught Katjaa's attention. She swiveled around to see Arenar now sitting on the floor, performing what she assumed to be a Restoration spell on his leg. He apparently knew what he was doing as the bone slipped back into his body and his flesh partially mended back together. The magic seemed to exhaust him since his fair skin complexion was now very pale, but the injury was now less severe.

Ralof emerged from the armory. "Nothing left in there but a couple of rusty swords. Unless you want me to amputate you, then I can help."

"Funny," Arenar spat out. "But that may be unnecessary; I'm feeling better already." He attempted to stand up without something to lean on but cursed and returned to his position on the floor when he failed. "Or maybe not. My magic can only repair so much. I'll likely not be able to walk correctly for about a week."

"Let me help you," Ralof offered. The Nord ducked down, allowing Arenar to wrap his arm around him. Both stood at the same time with the Imperial leaning on his companion. Ralof's arm passed across the bearskin-cloak and drew back in disgust. "Why is there blood on your back?"

Katjaa pushed aside his cloak and gasped. Where the dragon had it's claws now was a hideous scratch that extended across his entire upper body. His skin was a sickly yellow color where the scratch began and ended. "The beast poisoned you!" she realized.

"Then let's get a move on before I keel over," Arenar said, almost without care. He nodded to Ralof and the two headed towards the dungeon. Hadvar and Katjaa followed closely behind. _Does it not matter to him if he dies? _That was the last thing she wanted since he save her from the executioner's block.

Fifteen minutes passed before the group arrived in the torture chamber. Just as Hadvar said, half of the northern wall no longer stood. What used to be part of the foundation now dropped-off into a cavern with a downward slope. A light far down the tunnel shone brightly in the otherwise dark area. This confused Katjaa so she asked Hadvar, "is there someone else down here?"

She indicated the torchlight that he too had noticed. Hadvar shrugged and answered, "perhaps the scouts never extinguished their torches, though that's unlikely. Or maybe others remember this route and decided to take it as well. Nearly every Imperial soldier was informed about the wall in case prisoners escaped during their watch." He jumped into the cave and helped Arenar off the ledge.

Ralof hopped in next and took Arenar back. "I'll scout ahead to warn any Imperials about you," Hadvar told the other Nord.

Katjaa watched the soldier walk towards the light until he passed it then vanished from sight. She climbed down into the cave and arrived next to Arenar. She put her hand on his shoulder in a comforting way. "You gonna be okay?"

"I'll be fine," Arenar managed to say with a weak grin. "I've been through worse than this, believe it or not." He nodded to Ralof that he was ready to go. They slowly traveled down the underground tunnel with Katjaa leading a little further ahead. She looked at the torch as she passed it, finding it sitting in one of the many natural holes of the cave wall. _Guess there wasn't anytime to find a proper place to put it. _She shrugged at her thought and continued to trace Hadvar's path.

After a few twists and turns the sound of arguing Nords began to grow louder. _What's going on? _She switched to a slower pace and lowered herself closer to the ground. A large opening revealed it itself a minute later. Several torches lit up the area but were far enough away from Katjaa that she managed to remain hidden in the dark. Hadvar was in the middle of the area, facing away from her, and was blocked by four Stormcloaks. Each was armed and ready to fight the Imperial.

"How many more times must I tell you? Hadvar asked frantically. "I am with a group of your fellows. We're trying to escape, just like you!"

"Then where are they!" one of them shouted. He seemed to be in charge of the others, unless he just liked to talk more than them. His eyes shot behind Hadvar to the tunnel's mouth where Katjaa currently sat, dagger in hand. Shadows concealed her from the man, so he returned to Hadvar and yelled, "I see no one but you!"

"One of the men is injured. I volunteered to scout ahead in case of danger," Hadvar tried to explain.

"Injured? I bet you did the deed!" The other Stormcloaks nodded in agreement. "More likely you're just a lying, murderous bastard like everyone who fights for the Empire! Any Stormcloak you see is a threat, and I know there's no way you'd leave one injured. No, you stab us in the back and call _us _the traitors! You're the traitor; a Nord fighting against his own!"

"This is not the time nor place for this!" Hadvar shouted. "We have to escape now!"

The leader smiled viciously. "I think we've got enough time to cut you down." He stepped forward while swinging his two-handed battle axe at Hadvar. The Imperial soldier dropped to the dirt, narrowly avoid the attack, and scooted away from his assailant. "No more lies will pass your lips," the Stormcloak said as he patiently chased his prey.

Katjaa ran into the light with her dagger extended. She plowed into the leader and knocked him down after plunging the blade deep into the man's chest.

She pounced off him and towards the Stormcloak to her right, slashing his arm. The wounded Nord shoved her onto the ground and lifted his greatsword high above his head.

Katjaa rolled out of harm's way as the sword struck the earth. She bounced to her feet, anticipating retaliation from the two Stormcloaks she had ignored. To her surprise, one lay dead on the cave floor while the other dueled an angry Hadvar. _Wow, he recovered quickly._

A vicious shout from her opponent caught Katjaa's attention. She backed up too late, receiving a small scratch across her stomach.

Unfazed, she closed in fast and rapidly jabbed her dagger into the man. He cried out in pain and surprise as his blood sprayed out violently from his abdomen. His greatsword fell next to his dead comrades; he soon followed.

A sharp curse from the remaining Stormcloak alerted Katjaa of his loss to Hadvar before she turned around to confirm it. They were both covered in sweat and blood; both were also happy to be alive. "Thanks for the help," Hadvar said. Other than scrapes from his fall he appeared unharmed.

"No problem." Katjaa's fingers were stained with blood as they rubbed across her cut, though it was not enough to worry her.

"What happened here?" Ralof demanded. Hadvar and Katjaa watched him walk over with Arenar, now holding the torch she passed earlier, to inspect the bodies. "Oh," he sighed with relief as he looked at the face of the leader. "That there is... was Nodir. Bit of a dick, him and his men. Not very bright either, as you can plainly see."

"We wouldn't have attacked if they didn't started the fight," Katjaa offered, hoping to make the situation less tense.

Ralof didn't answer right away. "Damn dragon. Damn everything. Dumb men don't deserve to die just because they're dumb." Another short pause. "But I know you were just defending yourselves. I would have done the same thing. Perhaps they have something on them that we could use?"

Katjaa crouched down and started searching the corpses. On Nodir she found a steel dagger, which she accepted happily. _I prefer fighting with weapons in both hands. _There was also a coin purse with eight Septims. The rest only had money on them, adding to a total of thirty gold coins._  
_

"I don't suppose they had any healing potions on them, did they?" Arenar asked. Katjaa shook her head. "I guess that would be to easy, huh?" As she laughed at his joke his eyes went down to her wound and immediately were filled with concern. "You're hurt."

"I'm fine," Katjaa assured him. "It's just a flesh wound."

"If you say so," he said unconvincingly. Arenar turned to Hadvar. "Where do we go now?"

Hadvar pointed to a large gap in the cave's wall. "Through there. Another ten minutes or so of walking and we should be outside." Without another word the group proceeded to follow the Imperial soldier once again with a silent agreement not to split up anymore. Every few minutes Arenar made them stop to check on Katjaa. Each time she explained she was okay and his own injuries were much more severe. _He cares more for my safety than his own._

The cave's exit was just a a few yards in front of the group when Katjaa first heard the spiders. Darkness blinded her from seeing them, but the sound was unmistakable. The others noticed the noise too and began to walk faster.

"Woah!" Ralof and Arenar yelled at the same time. Katjaa saw them fall onto the ground; the torch he was carrying rolled to her feet. She tucked her iron dagger into her back pocket and picked up the light source. A thin silk fiber had tripped them.

Hadvar helped the pair up while Katjaa examined the rest of the cave with the torch. Web covered all of the walls and the exit. She touched it with the torch's fire, setting it ablaze. A couple seconds later ashes were all that remained.

"Watch out!" Arenar warned. He pointed above her head to a descending spider the size of a large dog. Katjaa raised the steel dagger up and pierced it in the underbelly. It made what she assumed a painful screech as it withdrew back to the ceiling.

Another replaced it behind Hadvar, but a swift kick made it decide to return from whence it came.

Katjaa looked up anxiously, but a minute passed without anything coming down onto the group. "That was close," she said too soon.

Behind Ralof and Arenar materialized a spider that was five times the size of the previous two. _Great, we met the mother. _

"Duck!" she yelled at the men. She chucked the torch at the arachnid once they did so, nailing it on the forehead. Fire spread across it's body, causing it to scurry about randomly until it eventually expired.

"What next, giant snakes?" Hadvar asked.

"I hate those damn things," Ralof said. "Too many eyes, you know?"

"Didn't you know about them?" Arenar asked the Imperial soldier. He responded with a shake of his head. "Your scouts weren't very good at relaying information apparently." He exhaled deeply, obviously uncomfortable due to both of his injuries. "Let's get a move on." And with that, the group left the cave.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: If you read the last chapter's note you may remember I said I will try to make future chapters around the same length? Yeah, well, I've done a poor job of that. This chapter (while I'm typing this) will be somewhere around 2,300 words by the time my final edits are made. The next chapter hasn't even completely been written and it's already around twice this chapter's length. I may (at some point in the future) combine this chapter with the last one since that's how it was originally written. Then again, maybe not. But I will try to keep from making chapter _extensively _long. The cut off point will be at 10,000 words, though that's liable to change.**

**You may or may not have noticed I changed the title from "The Return" to "The Nerevarine's Return. I decided that this overall sounds better and is much less broad of a title. "The Return" could have been referring to any of the numerous heroes that ever stepped foot on Tamriel. "The Nerevarine's Return" tells you exactly who has returned. If you don't like the title then message me about it. You can suggest I use the original title or use your custom one.**

**Special thanks to thomas cain.921 (there is actual a period between the two first words, but all that came out of that when I saved was ".921") for answering my question about Alduin (and being the only review I received as of writing this, despite not really being a review itself). **

**Please leave reviews. They make me happy. **


	9. Chapter 9: The Village of Riverwood

**CHAPTER NINE: THE VILLAGE OF RIVERWOOD**

**Katjaa**

The sky had returned to it's natural color by the time the group finally emerged outside. The air was cold but not as stuffy as what was in the cave. Katjaa examined their surroundings as Hadvar led them down a rural dirt trail. Smoke continued to rise from Helgen, though the town itself was no longer in sight. The woods they inhabited reminded her of parts of Cyrodiil, her home country. Far off in the distance she saw a snow-covered mountain side that contained an ancient Nordic ruin.

Moments after leaving the cave Hadvar signaled them from behind a rock. "Get down!" he ordered. Just as they did the dragon appeared high in the sky, flying away from the group until it passed the mountain and disappear from sight.

"There he goes. Looks like he is gone for good now. Guess it was tired of destroying Helgen. Maybe if we're lucky the Imperial City is next," Ralof joked. Hadvar shot the blond Nord a dirty look before continuing down the dirt trail towards the main road.

"We need to get you to safety," Katjaa told Arenar. "You can't expect to fight off infections in your current state. Fresh bandages will prevent that.

Arenar cursed as he tripped over his own feet. Ralof caught him before he could fall completely. "That doesn't sound like a bad idea," he admitted once they began walking again. "I'm pretty much spent on magicka so I can't heal myself anymore. Maybe tomorrow my reserve will be full again."

Fifteen minutes passed before the group made it to the main road. Next to them was a sign pointing in the direction of nearby settlements. Riverwood was along their current path while Helgen and Falkreath were in the opposite direction. Katjaa had a good look at the ruins once at the road's first turning point about five minutes later. It was rather large considering how clear she could make it out from so far away. The large stone archways leading to the ruin was all she could see, but she imagined the entrance leading inside the tomb would be somewhere at the end of them.

Hadvar noticed her observing the ruins and said, "Bleak Falls Barrow. When I was a boy, that place always used to give me nightmares. Draugr creeping down the mountain to climb through my window at night, that sort of thing. I admit, I still don't much like the look of it."

"Draugr?" she asked.

"The reanimated corpses of long dead Nords," Hadvar clarified. "Never seen one myself, though adventurers constantly report of the walking dead attacking them on sight."

"I never understood how my sister could stand living in the shadow of that place," Ralof commented. "I guess you get used to it."

Ten minutes later the road took a sharp turn to the left and then another to the right. Before the second turn stood three pillars. _How strange. _"What are those?" she asked once they got closer.

"These are the Guardian Stones, three of the thirteen ancient standing stones that dot Skyrim's landscape. Legend tells of the stones granting special powers to heroes of old, giving them the ability to rewrite their fate," Hadvar explained.

Katjaa approached the Stones. One had a carving of a warrior, another showed a mage, and the third one appeared to be a rogue of some type. She pressed her palm against the last stone. At first nothing happened. Then parts of it began to glow until it formed a constellation she recognized. _The Thief. _A beam of light shot out from the top of the stone and into the sky. The light faded several seconds later; the stone returned to it's original appearance.

"Wow," Ralof exclaimed. Katjaa turned around and saw all three men had amazed expressions on their faces. "It never did that when I touched the Warrior Stone."

"Same here," Hadvar added.

Arenar's look shifted to one she was growing used to, a stare of massive confusion and a little sadness. _I have to say something. _"Want to give it a go?" she offered.

He shook his head. "No thanks. I have a feeling it won't work for me either." Without further elaboration he let Ralof know he was ready to continue towards Riverwood. Neither Nord seemed to find his evasion odd, but Katjaa did. She decided to remain quiet about her suspicion and followed them without question.

Katjaa followed behind Ralof and Arenar by a few feet while Hadvar was slightly farther away in the front. She had been watching the river next to the road gently flow south when she noticed the blond Nord turn his head to look at her. She pretended to be oblivious of his spying eyes. He leaned in close to the Imperial and began whispering into his ear.

Katjaa stealthily closed in to overhear the man's words. "...isn't Stormcloak territory," Ralof warned. "If we're ahead of the news from Helgen we should be fine as long as we don't do anything stupid. If we run into any Imperials, just let me do the talking, all right?" Arenar nodded. _He doesn't seem to trust me. _Katjaa wasn't worried about this since she couldn't care less of the Stormcloak's opinion.

Twenty minutes of silence passed during their trip before it was abruptly ended by an ambush from a pack of wolves. One went for Hadvar, but he dodged the canine's teeth and pierced it with his sword. The other two charged at Arenar as he was the weakest link of the group. Katjaa threw her steel dagger at the closest wolf, nailing it with a fatal shot to the eye.

The remaining wolf successfully latched onto Arenar's bad leg. The Imperial let go of Ralof and fell to the ground. Ralof drew out his sword and cut the wolf's head from it's body. The head stayed lodged in his leg until Arenar pried it off. Blood quickly seeped out of the newest wound at an alarming rate. "Dammit! Will I ever catch a break?" he cried out in frustration.

Katjaa ripped off his bearskin-cloak and tied it around the wolf bite. "That should keep you from bleeding out until we get to Riverwood." She looked at Hadvar and Ralof. "How far away are we?"

Ralof pointed in the same direction they had been walking. "If we keep following the road and the White River we'll be there in about ten minutes, give or take a few." He picked up an even paler Arenar and said, "I'm sure we'll get you fixed up in no time."

* * *

Riverwood looked like a happy community, if a bit smaller than Katjaa anticipated. The buildings looked similar to Helgen's: made of wood with hay-covered roofs. The entrance into the tiny village cut through a stone wall, though it looked more like an elongated watch tower with no guards patrolling it. In fact Riverwood appeared completely defenseless since she saw no guards anywhere. _That wouldn't make me feel safe if I lived here. _The wall itself did not circle around the entire village, which made her feel even less protected. _Not as if Helgen's walls helped it any. _

There was no sign of Imperial control over the village, though Ralof's concern didn't make her assume it was owned by the Stormcloaks either. The White River ran through Riverwood, and on the side they currently didn't reside on was a lumber mill Ralof said belonged to his sister Gerdur and her husband Hod. As the group passed an empty forge and other smithing tools sitting on the side porch of a small home Hadvar mentioned the local blacksmith was his uncle, a Nord named Alvor. Opposite of the blacksmith was a general goods store. Further down the road was an inn named _The Sleeping Giant Inn. _The few other buildings in Riverwood were homes belonging to the villagers.

Hadvar looked back at the forge. "Odd he isn't working. Guess it's a good thing he isn't; he'd have a heart attack if he saw me with a Stormcloak."

"I know he's a Talos worshiper, so I'll let that one slide," Ralof responded.

"Why does that matter?" Arenar asked. No one answered.

A woman was raving about seeing a dragon to her son, but he didn't believe her. _I guess the news hasn't reached here yet._ Two young children that looked to be around eight or nine played in front of the inn with a dog. Neither seemed to notice the group, but Ralof mentioned the boy was his nephew and Hadvar recognized the girl as his cousin. A wood elf currently was situating a fallen log into the saw of the mill. Other than those few people, the group was alone outside.

"I'm not sure where we should go," Hadvar admitted. "My aunt and uncle would help us if not for Ralof."

The Stormcloak grunted. "My sister won't want to deal with any of the Empire's scum."

"Guys!" Arenar shouted. Both men looked at the Imperial. "Can we be bitter rivals later? I am in a lot of pain, and your bickering doesn't help anything!" Both Nords looked ashamed. "Now, let's go to the inn. Unless that's too much of a problem."

"I'll go to the Riverwood Trader and see if Lucan has some potions we can use then meet up with you all later," Hadvar said. He turned around and walked to the store.

Soon after the rest of the group entered _The Sleeping Giant Inn. _A fire pit burned in the middle of the tavern. Most of the walls had empty tables sitting along them; the rest of the wall space was reserved for rooms for rent. Animal skin rugs laid in front of a few chairs that sat at the end of the fire pit closest to Katjaa. A drunken Nord was mumbling incoherently from one of the chairs.

At the far end of the room sat the bar and a bartender; a Nord with no real distinguishable features. Diagonal from the bar was an alchemy table. Sweeping nearby was an older Breton woman in a long blue dress. _She might be the owner. _The woman was currently arguing with the man behind the bar about ale. Her tone sounded calm though, and the way the two looked at each other Katjaa guessed they were a happily married couple.

"Set me down right there," Arenar said. Ralof did as he was directed and placed the injured man in an empty chair. Arenar winced as he fell back into it. "Hadvar better hurry up. Won't do well for business if I die here."

The Breton closed in once she noticed the group, specifically Arenar. Katjaa observed the woman, guessing her to be in her early-to-mid fifties. She matched Katjaa in height but had a paler skin color. Her blond hair was typed back in a long ponytail. Her grey eyes seemed to absorb and process all observable information in an instant. Under the woman's dress seemed to be a slightly muscular frame. _Must be an illusion. _"What happened to you?" she asked in a feminine yet tough voice.

"I got hurt," Arenar answered.

"No shit," the Breton said.

Ralof went back to the door. "I'll see if my sister has any bandages for you. Delphine-" he was now looking at the Breton "-do you mind if he can stay here a while?"

Delphine shrugged. "As long as you clean up any blood that gets on the floor." Ralof nodded and left the inn. She faced Arenar and Katjaa, who was standing next to him, and asked, "so wise guy, how did you get hurt?"

Katjaa and Arenar glanced nervously at one another. A silent agreement was made between them to keep the truth a secret. "We were attacked by wolves right outside the village. Wasn't the warm welcome we were hoping for."

Delphine crossed her arms. "Judging by the way you limped on that leg I'd guess it was broken pretty bad. It'd take a mighty strong wolf to do that kind of damage."

_Damn, she's smart. _"Well there were several wolves all attacking me at once, and they were rather big," Arenar added.

"Did a wolf do that?" Delphine questioned, pointing to the scratch on Katjaa's stomach. The bleeding had stopped some time ago, but her shirt was stained and torn.

"Um... yeah," she lied.

The Breton nodded slowly. "I see," she said in an unconvinced tone. "Was the wolf that caused that tiny mark the same one that broke your leg?"

"Different wolves," Arenar answered.

The door opened and Hadvar entered, carrying two small bottles. One a red color that is normally associated with potions of healing. The other was a dark yellow Katjaa didn't recognize but assumed to be for the dragon's poison. "You're luckier than you may think, Arenar." The soldier approached the Imperial, giving a quick nod to the innkeeper. "The Riverwood Trader was broken into last night. The only potions not broken or stolen were these two."

"Hand them here," Arenar said. He yanked the stopper off the healing potion and drank it's contents. He made a face as the liquid ran down his throat. "Why do these always taste bad? Does that help me out more?" he joked. He placed the empty bottle on the floor and consumed the second drink. "Mmm... that's better. Kinda has a honey aftertaste."

"We should get you to a room before you pass out," Hadvar suggested. "Lucan says the anti-poison will make you sleep for the rest of the day." He lifted Arenar up from the seat with effort since the drowsiness was already beginning. "Any open rooms?"

Delphine pointed to a door in the far left corner of the inn. "Cost you ten Septims."

"Can you cover it?" Hadvar asked Katjaa. "My hands are full."

"No problem." She began counting the money out as the Imperial soldier unlocked the room's door with the key given to him by Delphine, dragging Arenar inside with some difficulty.

Once the coins were placed in Delphine's open hand she said, "odd to see a man attacked by wolves need a potion to deal with poison. Even odder to see Hadvar and Ralof in the same company since the Stormcloak Rebellion began."

"Yeah well, you know how those things go," Katjaa said slowly, unable to think of an actual excuse. Ralof re-entered the inn with fresh bandages and another healing potion. "He's in here." The blond Nord followed her into Arenar's room, which was only slightly larger than a broom closet. It had the essentials: a bed, four walls, a ceiling, and a floor; though not much else. The Imperial laid on his bed, lightly snoring. His steel sword rested in the middle of the room, likely having been dropped by accident. Hadvar sat on an uncomfortable looking chair, the only other furniture the room offered.

Katjaa untied the bearskin-cloak (now soaked with his blood) from the man's leg and handed it to Hadvar. "Oh boy," he mumbled. "Exactly what I wanted." He folded it up and slid it under his chair.

She gave him a cheeky smile then returned to Arenar. She carefully tugged up his pant leg and examined the damage. He was still bleeding a little bit, but neither that cut from his broken bone nor the wolf bite looked as bad as before. Ralof handed her the bandages and placed the healing potion at the end of the bed. Slowly she wrapped the wounds, making sure not to move his leg to much since it was likely still broken. "There we go, that should help with the bleeding. Let's flip him over and take care of his back."

The Nords rotated the sleeping man then placed him back on the mattress, this time on his chest. Ralof grabbed the bottom of Arenar's shirt and pulled it over his head. The dragon's scratch was still bleeding and puss was spilling out as well, but the anti-poison seemed to be working. As Katjaa wiped away the blood she heard a gasp from outside of the room. She turned her head and saw Delphine standing in the doorway with a shocked expression. "I suppose that was a wolf too," she said suspiciously.

Dumbfounded, Ralof looked at her and asked, "a wolf? Are you crazy? It was a-" Katjaa elbowed him in the ribs "-um... a bear. A bear attacked us after the wolves."

Delphine glanced at Katjaa. "You never mentioned a bear."

Katjaa shrugged. "You never asked." She shifted her focus back onto Arenar and continued to cover up the wound. _Wow, he has a lot of scars._

Once all of the Imperial's injuries were dealt with Ralof said, "Hod may have some clothes for him. Gerdur might give you a new shirt as well."

"My uncle might have some equipment you can have," Hadvar proposed. "It won't be of the highest quality, but it'll be better than nothing."

"Thank you both but we can't leave him alone," Katjaa reminded them.

Delphine cleared her throat, directing all attention on her. "I'll make sure nothing happens to him while you're out," she offered.

Katjaa looked at her skeptically. "Um... okay. Thanks." She slowly followed the Nords out of the inn, glancing back once at the other Breton who returned the stare.

* * *

She didn't return to _The Sleeping Giant Inn _until much later in the night. As Ralof said his sister and brother-in-law were more than happy to supply fresh clothes, especially for Arenar since he was the man who rescued their relative. Katjaa swapped her old shirt right away with the newer one. Ralof took a new shirt and pair of pants to the Imperial's room as she was changing. She remained at their home for about two hours, retelling the story of the group's escape and enjoying the hospitality.

Katjaa then moved on to the blacksmith's home. She arrived as the family sat down to eat dinner. Alvor's wife, Sigrid, invited the Breton to join them. They were having beef stew with slices of bread to dip in it. Her rumbling stomach made Katjaa accept the offer. The food was filling, if bland. She stuffed her bread into her pocket to give to Arenar later.

After the meal Alvor and Katjaa began a search for new armor for both her and Arenar. She offered to pay, but Hadvar's uncle refused the money. A few hours passed before a full set of leather armor was collected from a pile of discarded items that never sold. He also found another steel dagger to replace her iron one. The armor was light, which she preferred, but was not as comfortable as what the Imperial troops confiscated from her. Some iron armor for Arenar was scavenged together two hours later, but Alvor decided to hold onto it until the man could retrieve it himself.

Now, at around nine at night, Katjaa walked into the tavern, fully outfitted in her new armor. The drunken man from earlier shuffled into one of the inn's rooms as she entered Arenar's. Hadvar had given her the key to his room during dinner. The Imperial still slept on the bed, though at some point while Katjaa was gone he rolled over. The front of his body was just as scarred everywhere the bandages didn't cover like his back. One of the more severe marks was a burn in the shape of a hand over his heart. Judging by the exact placement she guessed the scar was caused by a lightning spell. _How did he survive that? _

As her fingers lightly passed over the ancient-looking wound there was a knock on the door. Katjaa opened it and saw Delphine was the culprit. "Thank you for watching him. I hope there weren't any problems."

"There weren't any," Delphine said.

"Is there another room available?" The Breton nodded. Katjaa fished out ten Septims and handed them to Delphine.

"Follow me." The innkeeper led Katjaa across the main hall to a door across from Arenar's room. She unlocked the door with a small key and stepped aside, handing Katjaa the key as she entered. The room was exactly the same as the Imperial's, minus a sleeping injured man on the bed.

Katjaa heard a click as the door behind her closed. She turned around to see Delphine in the room, leaning against the door with her arms crossed over her chest. Instinctively Katjaa rested her hands on her daggers, one located on both hips. "Is there anything else?" she asked hostilely.

"Not much," Delphine said nonchalantly. "I just wanted to hear the truth."

_Damn, she's really smart. _"The truth? About what?"

"Don't act dumb!" Delphine stepped in closer. "That Imperial was way too injured to just have been attacked by wolves. And I know there wasn't a bear."

"How'd you know that?"

A sly smile appeared on Delphine's face. "I didn't until just now. I did, however, suspect the bear to be a lie when you jabbed Ralof. That wasn't very subtle, after all."

Katjaa sighed. _Might as well tell her. _"Okay, you're right. We lied. What do you want to know?"

"First of all, I still don't know your name or the Imperial's," Delphine said.

"I am Katjaa Amarie. He is Arenar... Krex, if I remember correctly.

Delphine nodded. "Well then, Katjaa, how did Arenar get hurt?"

"This morning when myself, Arenar, Hadvar, and Ralof were in Helgen, the village was attacked by a dragon." Katjaa waited to be called a liar. But other than a surprised expression there was no real reaction to the word 'dragon.' _She took that well. _"It was destroying and killing everything in sight while we tried to escape. The dragon picked up Arenar with it's claws. Arenar stabbed it so he was dropped from the sky, breaking his leg when he landed. We escaped through a cave under Helgen and went straight here."

"Well... at least you lied with good reason." Delphine muttered. Her eyes narrowed, as if craving more information. "Why were all four of you in Helgen together?"

"Ulfric Stormcloak and his men were apprehended by General Tullius's soldiers two nights ago at the Skyrim-Cyrodiil border. Arenar had arrived in their camp just moments earlier and fled when the Imperial ambush began, but was injured by a captain and left for dead. The next day at around noon I ran into the Imperials transporting their prisoners and, since I was 'near' the camp, I too was arrested as a supporter. We were taken to Helgen last night to be executed today. Early this morning Arenar sneaked into the dungeon we were held in and released us. During our escape the dragon appear and started wreaking havoc. We ran into Hadvar and he informed us of the underground tunnel that led out of Helgen," Katjaa explained.

Again the Breton nodded. "You don't have to worry about me turning you all in. I don't care about this Stormcloak/Imperial dispute. The real enemy is the Thalmor." Her voice became even tougher and more hostile with that last word. _You really don't care for the high elves, huh? _Delphine's voice lightened once she continued. "But right now that dragon is the biggest threat. Without a wall or guards we are more defenseless than Helgen."

Katjaa shook her head. "Neither of those did much of anything to stop or even slow the dragon."

The other woman sighed. "If we have guards the dragon will likely be more focused on them if it attacks Riverwood, allowing more time for civilians to escape." Katjaa must have had a slightly sickened expression on her face because Delphine said, "don't look at me like that. I know it sounds rather morbid, but we don't have a lot of options."

_She does have a point. _"You're right," Katjaa agreed. "So why aren't there guards here?"

"I'm not entirely sure," Delphine admitted. "A few months ago we had all four guards withdrawn back to Whiterun Hold. Likely Jarl Balgruuf was worried about the Stormcloaks or Imperials attacking the city so he bolstered the amount of guards. With High King Torygg killed by Ulfric, it's only a matter of time before one side or the other tires to take Whiterun since it's located in the middle of Skyrim."

"So why would the Jarl send guards now when the threat of invasion is suddenly on the horizon?"

"Well, he is a Nord. They of all people know the threat a single dragon poses," the innkeeper pointed out.

"Okay then. Once Arenar can walk on his own again we'll head out to Whiterun and petition the Jarl for guards," Katjaa said.

"That will take a few more days. We need to alert the Jarl of the dragon as soon as possible," Delphine reminded her. "You should leave early tomorrow morning; it's about a full day of traveling by foot."

Katjaa didn't want to leave Arenar alone since he rescued her from the Keep so she said, "I can't leave without him. What if-"

"Riverwood needs you!" Delphine interrupted. "I'll take care of the Imperial. He can stay here, free of charge, until he can meet up with you in Whiterun."

_That's probably for the best. _"Alright. When I wake up tomorrow I'll head out. Unless Arenar's awake too, then I'll say goodbye first."

"So it's a plan. I'm going to head back to the bar. I'd suggest that you go to sleep now else you'll not arrive in Whiterun until late into the night." Delphine turned around and opened the door. "Goodnight."

"Wait!" Katjaa exclaimed. The other woman froze outside the room. "I'm sorry we lied. It's just... well the thought of dragon's returning sounds pretty ludicrous, even to me, and I saw the damn beast."

"No harm, no foul," Delphine said as she shut the door. "Besides, you're not the only one with secrets." The door closed completely, leaving Katjaa confused about the Breton's last words. Katjaa slowly removed her armor until it all laid in a pile on the wooden floor. She removed her daggers and placed them on the chair. It wasn't until she laid down on her bed she realized how exhausted and tired she was.

Immediately Katjaa fell asleep; nightmares of the dragon plagued her throughout the night.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Wow, that was almost double the last chapter in length. Yet it took half the time to write. Figures. A viewer messaged me with a question about who and what Katjaa was and that reader was right on both counts. The more obvious one and the more obscure one, so kudos to you.**

**Please leave reviews. Or I might cry. No one wants that.**


	10. Chapter 10: The Next Day

**AUTHOR'S FIRST NOTE: If you haven't read Chapter Six: Destruction of Helgen after to 6/23/13 I advise you re-read the chapter, more specifically the end where (SPOILER) Arenar was picked up by Alduin. I extended that part to include future plot items I failed to add when the chapter was originally uploaded.**

**Now on with the show.**

* * *

**CHAPTER TEN: THE NEXT DAY**

**Arenar**

The pit of his stomach churned without mercy. Arenar awoke and sat up immediately, feeling the potions he drank the day before make their way back up his throat. He quickly looked around the room, searching for anything to throw up in. A chair that his bloody bearskin-cloak sat on also held a bucket. He almost grinned from his success. His hand shot out and brought it to his face. _Weird, this is full. _Violently he released the bile from his mouth into the bucket before he could further examine the liquid already inside.

Once his stomach was done expelling all of his contents, Arenar examined his room. All he had seen of it yesterday was the door since he had completely fallen asleep before Hadvar unlocked. He stretched out his good leg and managed to touch the wall opposite of him. _Small room. _Another healing potion was on the floor next to his feet. At the edge of his bed lay new clothes, which made him realize his old shirt was no longer on his body; it rested under the cloak. Arenar's body and bad leg were covered in bandages; red stains marked where his fresh wounds were.

The steel sword he'd stolen from the Imperial captain leaned against the chair. Just the sight of it filled him with despair. Trueflame was gone; the single-handed weapon originally crafted for Indoril Nerevar, given to him as a wedding gift when he married Almalexia from the Dwarven King. The Nerevarine had been instructed by the same woman to re-craft Trueflame over three thousand years after her husband's death; he later used the sword to kill the power-crazed Tribunal member.

It had been taken by the Imperial troops when he died near the Stormcloak camp. Other than the Moon-and-Star, the sword was his only remaining physical connection to Morrowind. Arenar had never wielded a weapon that was more suited to his fighting style before using it. The balance was perfect, the weight was minimal, and the fire enchantment was so strong he never needed a soul gem.

Now Trueflame was gone. Arenar had hoped to find it and the rest of his gear inside Helgen's Keep during the escape. His hopes were filled greatly when he discovered the armory. But Trueflame wasn't there. The rest of the things stolen from his lifeless corpse didn't matter; the Dwarven armor, all his gold, all his potions, and all the other supplies. He would gladly lose them all again if only to have Trueflame back.

A light tapping began on the opposite side of his bedroom door. _Great time for a visitor. _Arenar pulled his bearskin-cloak off the chair and wiped his face with one of the few non-stained parts. "Come in."

The door creaked open and Katjaa's head appeared, wearing a leather helmet. "How long you been awake?" she asked.

Arenar shrugged. "A couple of minutes, maybe less. What time is it?"

"Just a little after six."

"Damn, I slept for quite a while. Hadvar wasn't lying 'bout that."

Katjaa nodded. "How are you doing? Better?"

He glanced down to his puke bucket and chuckled. "Well, I'm not dying anymore, so that's a plus. Pretty thirsty though. Could you get me something to drink?"

"Well you have a bucket of water sitting on your lap," Katjaa pointed out as she entered the room completely. Now Arenar could see she had on a full set of leather armor. Her daggers were placed on each hip, and a small pack was attached to her shoulders. _You're looking more and more like Lielle._ "I can go get you a cup if you want one."

"No need. I don't plan on drinking from this anytime soon." Arenar put the bucket down on the floor then pointed to the new clothes. "I'm assuming those are for me?" She nodded. "Nice. Sleeping in one's own blood covered pants makes him wish for fresher clothing. May I ask who donated these?"

"Ralof's brother-in-law. He said these were all too small for him anymore, so I figured since you're an Imperial anything too small for a Nord would be just right for you."

Arenar put his hand on his chest. "Madam, that hurt me so. I might just cry." He grabbed the dark blue short-sleeve shirt and put it on. It was a little big on him, but it was made of a thicker material that would keep him warmer than his old shirt. _I am sure the shorter sleeves will more than compensate for that. _The Imperial then pulled the pants over to him. "I'd imagine you want to turn around now. Wouldn't want to shock you or anything."

"Shock me how? By letting me down?" Katjaa teased.

"Well well. The Breton can make jokes. Lies all the same, but still pretty funny." Arenar said as he tried to stand. Once the pain shot through his leg he sat right back down on the mattress. His leg didn't hurt as badly as yesterday, though it still wasn't ready to be walked on. He placed the pants back where he found them. "I don't thinking I'll be able to salvage my dancing skills from these leg injuries. Damn shame."

Katjaa threw her head back and laughed. "Damn shame indeed. However will you go on?"

"I probably won't be able to. Without my dancing, I am nothing!" They both erupted into fits of laughter. A few minute passed before the giggling faded away. Arenar couldn't take his eyes off of the magnificent woman. In the one day he'd known her, she had rescued him from Helgen after the dragon dropped him, she had fought and killed two men that threatened his safety, fought and killed two spiders that did the same; he looked down at the bandages, suspecting she dressed his wounds as well. _Lielle rescued me the first time I met her too._

She walked over to his bed and sat down right next to him._ "_Well, if you are hungry you can have these." She pulled out a couple slices of bread from a side pocket and handed them to him. "They might be a little-"

Before she could finish talking all of the bread disappeared in the Imperial's mouth. He choked a little bit as he swallowed since he hadn't bothered to chew. "Not bad. It was a little stale. Next time I'd prefer something fresher." he joked.

The Breton gave him an enchanted smile as she said, "Delphine's right, you are a wise ass." Mentioning the innkeeper's name made her smile fade away. "Speaking of Delphine, I have to get going soon. Got a full day's worth of traveling to get done. If I hurry I'll be in Whiterun just at sundown."

"Whiterun?" Arenar asked. "What's in Whiterun?"

"Delphine approached me last night and got me to tell her the truth of the dragon. She wants me to speak with Jarl Balgruuf and request for some guards to protect Riverwood in the event of a dragon attack."

"But guards didn't do anything to save Helgen. Really all they were was a distraction that gave the few villagers that managed it the ability to escape."

"That's what I told her."

Arenar waited. When Katjaa didn't add anything else he asked, "so why does she want guards?"

Katjaa broke eye contact and looked at the floor. "A distraction. The more time the dragon spends attacking the guards, the more likely villagers will be able to escape." She didn't look happy, so he suspected she didn't agree to the plan.

Having morals was a pain, something Arenar learned over two hundred years earlier. Vivec, one of the Tribunal members that played a part in Nerevar's death, had taught Arenar how to halt the Heart of Lorkhan from supplying Dagoth Ur with anymore power, despite knowing that it would take away power from himself as well.

He returned to the mortal god after killing Almalexia and informed the former Chimer that her and Sotha Sil were dead. Vivec praised him for the deed, and promised that he would use what little power he had left for good. Arenar knew the man would try, but he also knew the man was a murderer and manipulative. With a quick swipe of Trueflame, the Anticipation of Mephala's head fell to the floor.

He patted her on the back. "If there was another way, I would suggest we take it. But since there's not, her plan probably is the best way to go."

"Yeah," Katjaa sighed. "Both of you are probably right. Still..." She sighed again. "Oh well. I better get on the road now. I have a tent in my pack, but I'd rather not have to camp tonight."

She turned around and placed her hand on the door knob. "Alright then. I'll meet you by the northern gate as soon as I get dressed. I'll need a walking stick or a crutch of some kind if I want to walk without crying."

Katjaa faced him again. "You can't go with me," she said with sorrow.

_I didn't expect that. _Arenar scratched his scraggly beard. "Well why not?" She pointed at his bad leg. "Oh this? Come on, we got over here fine, didn't we? And that was when I was dying from the dragon's poison. Give me a couple more healing potions, plus my own magic, and my broken leg will be mended in two, three days tops."

"But I need to go NOW," Katjaa reminded him.

"WE can go now, I just need a crutch or walking stick."

"You'll still be moving too slow."

"Okay well-"

"Plus you'll be wearing armor that Hadvar's uncle gave to us for free. That will just slow you down even more."

"Now wait just-"

"How do you expect to fight on one leg? Hold your sword out and hope your opponent runs onto it?"

"FINE!" Arenar screamed. Katjaa jumped off the bed and away from him, startled by the sudden outburst. _Calm down. _"Sorry about that. Got a little carried away there. If you insist, I'll stay here. Whenever I can walk without aid I will head to Whiterun and join you."

Katjaa moved a little closer, but she didn't return to the bed. "Okay. Delphine is allowing you to stay here for free since she requested me to do this, so you don't need to worry about that. Just call out for her if you need anything." Without another word she left the room. A minute later Arenar heard the Breton leave the inn.

He sighed and lay back down on his bed. So far Skyrim was the worst country he had ever been in. Even the time he went to the Summerset Isles six years earlier he didn't have this bad of luck. Only three days had passed since Arenar entered the frozen north yet he had died, lost Trueflame and all his other equipment, been poisoned and scarred by a dragon, broke his leg, been bitten by a wolf, and more recently thrown up everything in his stomach. _If I was more careful none of that would have happened. _Arenar knew this to be true. Ever since Lielle's death he had been reckless; never concerned about his safety. After all, what's the worse that could happen to him. Die?

But now Katjaa was in his life. This woman was like Lielle in so many ways it was scary. No logical reason explained the similarities, but he knew this was no coincidence. And now she was out in the world, traveling alone. She obviously knew how to take care of herself, but that didn't put the Imperial at ease. _If I was more careful she wouldn't be alone. _He resolved to put her safety first from now on by making sure he wasn't incapacitated.

Arenar reached down and grabbed the healing potion from the floor. He ripped the plug from the bottle and drank it all down in one gulp. He gagged but kept the fluid down. His hand glowed with Restoration magic and he rubbed it along his leg. The spell didn't last long since his magicka pool hadn't completely refilled. He sat back up and tested the leg. It still hurt, but slightly less. "I'm coming, Katjaa."

* * *

**AUTHOR'S SECOND NOTE: I haven't had a chapter this short since Chapter Three: A Night in Helgen. I was debating whether to do something like this or have another chapter for Katjaa arriving in Whiterun next, but it's been a couple chapters since Arenar had his perspective shown, so I decided to do it this way.**

**Next chapter will likely be longer (no ****guarantees) and will be a Katjaa chapter.**

**Please review, cause I asked nicely :)**


	11. Chapter 11: Jarl Balgruuf's Request

**AUTHOR'S FIRST NOTE: I decided to make all of the major cities in Skyrim much larger than the video game counterpart. For example, Whiterun will have a population of 700 people or so. Small towns/communities, like Riverwood and Helgen, will remain the same size.**

* * *

**CHAPTER ELEVEN: JARL BALGRUUF'S REQUEST  
**

**Katjaa**

Whiterun. The large city in the center of Whiterun Hold was grand, even at night. The street diverged immediately into two seperate directions. One way continued in the same direction one would be facing once he or she passed through the city gates. Off to the right was a blacksmith while to the right was a small inn called _The Drunken Huntsman. _Further down the road lit by fire-filled braziers was a small shopping area with stalls, shops, and a larger inn that all revolved around a public well. The other path didn't reveal as much because it turned into a staircase going up, leading deeper into the housing district.

Katjaa noticed all of these details in an instant, but her mind was thinking of other things. Most recently it pondered about the guards posted outside the city walls. The Nord she spoke to was reluctant to let her inside as the gates were supposed to remain closed due the dragon attack. All Katjaa had to do was persuade the guard she came from Helgen with news about the dragon. Not exactly a lie, but not the whole truth either. He unlocked the gates under threat of being watched carefully.

But soon her thoughts returned to Arenar, as he was all she could think about the entire day of traveling from Riverwood. Despite having lost his temper and yelling at her, Katjaa felt bad about leaving the Imperial behind. The only reason his leg was broken was him rescuing the prisoners from Helgen's dungeon.

Arenar was no doubt a great man considering the jail break, but was odd nonetheless. Katjaa caught him staring at her for prolonged periods of time more than once during their escape. Plus he had been more concerned about the small scrape on her stomach while he was walking on a broken leg with poison flowing through his veins.

Katjaa guessed the man's infatuation with her had something to do with Lielle, the name Arenar originally called her by. After the correction, Arenar apologized for the mistake, saying Lielle was somebody from his past. _Likely an old lover. _The sad look in the Imperial's eyes when he mentioned her name probably meant Lielle was dead.

_The Drunken Huntsman _was a welcome sight for Katjaa. Her feet were aching from the near-continuous walking that last almost all day. At around eleven she stopped and bathed in the White River. The area was not very secluded but any farther down the river and she'd have been at a waterfall. The Breton didn't normally strip down in broad daylight, but the dirt and grime from sleeping on the cell floor was still on her skin and hair. After a fifteen minute bath she re-equipped her clothes, armor, daggers and pack then continued towards Whiterun.

She entered _The Drunken Huntsman _at around ten in the evening. The inn had two floors, though the entire second floor was a single master bedroom while the room on the main floor appeared to be tinier in comparison. A bar sat in the left corner of the first floor beside the entrance. A fire pit smaller than _The Sleeping Giant's _had pots and pans either surrounding it on the floor or suspended above it on a roast; otherwise the area was relatively open excluding a couple of tables.

A total of five people currently resided inside, Katjaa included. Two of them were Redguards, a man and a woman; another was a female Dunmer, and lastly a male Bosmer. The Redguards looked to be well off judging by their fancy clothes, though Katjaa couldn't figure out why they would live in an inn if they were wealthy. The Breton couldn't make out anymore details of the couple as they ascended to the master bedroom. The Dunmer woman sat alone at a table nearly hidden from sight. Her orange war paint looked even brighter than it really was due to her dark blue skin, dark brown hair, and blood red eyes. The leather armor similar to Katjaa's marked the elf as a mercenary.

The male Bosmer, who was also the innkeeper, stood behind the bar while drinking from a full glass of ale. Both his long, wild hair and beard were ginger and his skin was paler than the mercenary's by a greater degree, features that were common for Wood Elves. His pointed ears barely poked through his thick mane. His pitch black eyes shot to Katjaa soon after she walked in. "Hello friend. A little late for customers, but _The Drunken Huntsman _is always open."

She smiled at his hospitality as she approached the bar. "That's nice to know," Katjaa said. "I've got to ask, what's with the name?"

The elf chuckled after taking a sip of his drink. "Yes, I hear that question often. My brother Anoriath and I came up with it one night after consuming...rather too much mead. After our drinks, we went out for a moonlight hunt. We got separated, and in his drunken state my brother mistook me for a deer. He shot an arrow that pierced my... well, my rump. After such a memorable adventure, we knew we had the name for our shop."

Katjaa stopped laughing about his story when he said 'shop.' She glanced at the interior again and sighed when she noticed the clear evidence that this place was not an inn. Several bows, an iron dagger, and poorly-made leather boots were presented on the table. Wicker baskets and cabbages sat on shelves next to the elf. A dummy with targets painted on the chest and head leaned against the wall behind him. It also dawned on her that with only two rooms, one occupied by the Redguard couple, the smaller on one the main floor had to belong to him.

_I should have paid more attention. _"I'm sorry," Katjaa apologized to the shopkeeper. "I thought this was an inn."

He cocked his head to the side in confusion. "Never heard that one before. Why'd you think that?" She explained about seeing the couple enter their room, the tables, and the roast pit then assuming _The Drunken Huntsman _to be an inn. His eyebrows rose. "That actually makes sense. Hate to burst your bubble, mam."

She shrugged. "It's my own fault. The sign outside had a full mug of alcohol on it. Most businesses I've encountered that sell beverages either only do that or have rooms for rent too."

"The only inn Whiterun has is _The Bannered Mare, _but all the rooms have been taken by travelers stuck here 'cause of the dragon that attacked Helgen. Only guards and farmers have passed through those gates since yesterday morning." The confused look from before returned to his face. "How'd you get in?"

She thought about lying and pretending to be a farmer, but her leather armor and steel daggers would give her away. Instead Katjaa explained, "I am a survivor from Helgen, coming from Riverwood to request guards for the defenseless village."

His eyes widened. "I didn't know there were any survivors. Please, you must tell me what happened."

And so she did. Katjaa started from the beginning when she was arrested for false charges and dragged to Helgen alongside the Stormcloaks and Lokir. The tale ended with her entering _The Drunken Huntsman. _She did leave out a few details: Arenar's staring, Ralof being a Stormcloak, Hadvar being an Imperial soldier, the Thief Stone and Arenar's refusal to touch it, and lastly her visit with Arenar just before leaving Riverwood. In total the story took nearly an hour to tell.

"Damn," the elf said. Katjaa waited a full minute for him to add anything else, but he didn't.

She rose from her chair that she'd grabbed while telling the shopkeeper her story. "I guess I better find a place to camp for the night."

Katjaa started for the door. "Wait a minute," the elf called out before she got far. "My brother has decided to try his luck at _The Bannered Mare _in hope of finding a lonely traveler that wants to... well, I think you know."

"I don't see how that's relevant," Katjaa said.

He smirked. "Knowing Anoriath he's likely succeeded and won't return until sometime tomorrow. Which means his bed is available, if you want it."

"I don't want to impose, but thanks-"

"You won't be imposing. In fact, I insist."

Katjaa looked at the elf suspiciously. He seemed trustworthy, but he could be faking. The Breton knew she was attractive, a fact proven to her multiple times in the past when a foolish man would decide that her pretty face means she wouldn't fight back. A quick slash of a dagger to the fool's throat would often be sufficient.

_If he tries anything, he's dead. _Katjaa flashed a smile. "Well, since you insist, I accept the offer."

He returned the smile and pointed to the room on the first floor. "Right through there; the bed on your right."

Immediately she headed inside the room. It was quite small; there was space for a bed and a dresser on each side of the room but little else. Exhaustion prevented Katjaa from taking off any of her equipment before curling up on the bed and passing out.

* * *

Katjaa didn't wake up until eleven the next morning; a little less than twelve hours after she arrived in Whiterun. After wiping some drool off her face the Breton reluctantly climbed off the surprisingly comfortable bed. Only once she was in a standing position did a sharp pain in her stomach become noticeable. She realized her last meal was an apple in Riverwood the day before. Katjaa rummaged through her pack that contained a coin purse with twenty Septims, a small tent, a rolled-up sleeping mat, an empty canteen, and a map of Skyrim. Delphine gave her the pack that had been prepacked with everything but the money the morning Katjaa left, but apparently the innkeeper had neglected to add food.

_Should have checked before I left. _Katjaa passed through the doorway back into the main room of the shop. Now there were twenty people inside _The Drunken Huntsman, _but most just sat at the tables talking to one another. She waved goodbye to the elf as she exited the shop in search for food. Directly outside at the forge near the gates was a blond Nord in Imperial soldier armor arguing with an Imperial wearing a blacksmith's apron. The man was obviously a supporter of the Empire, and the way he complained of the Grey-Manes they must have sided with the Stormcloaks. The woman was clearly irritated by his rambling, but Katjaa was too hungry to intervene.

She trekked down the road towards the marketplace, which was very busy. By Katjaa's guess a total of 200 or more people were either buying, selling, or just wandering between stalls and shops in front of her. Ten stalls selling items ranging from books to meat formed a complete circle around the well in the center. Two buildings, a general goods store and an apothecary, had their doors constantly opened and closed by potential customers.

None of the food being sold could be eaten right away, so Katjaa moved on to _The Bannered Mare, _which sat a few yards away from the apothecary, sensing it was the best chance to find food. She had to struggle through the crowd of fifty people or so to get to the bar once she was inside. _That elf wasn't kidding, this place is full. _She tried to order a meal, but the innkeeper informed her that it would take two hours. Defeated, the Breton went back outside.

After about an hour of walking around the city of Whiterun in search of food ended with no results. Katjaa did manage to explore most of the city in return. The town square was marred by a giant dead tree in it's center, but most of the 300 something people never seemed to notice it.

Three of the five buildings directly outside the town square grabbed Katjaa's attention. A small temple held the sick and dying citizens of Whiterun. According to a priestess the temple was devoted to the goddess Kyne. This name was unfamiliar to Katjaa, a follower of the Nine Divines, though the same priestess explained Kyne was the Nordic interpretation of Kynareth, Goddess of the heavens.

A large mead hall located upon a hill was called Jorrvaskr. From the looks of it the building and twenty warriors inside, who referred to themselves as the Companions, seemed to be the Skyrim version of the Fighters' Guild. A Nordic archer explained they were "descendants" of Ysgramor, an ancient Atmoran hero, and his 500 Companions that pushed the elves out of Skyrim and established the First Empire in Tamriel during the Merethic Era. Jorrvaskr was built next to the Skyforge, a large forge of unknown origins, then the rest of Whiterun was built around the hall later. She said the closest thing the Companions had to a leader since Ysgramor's death was the Harbinger, who was considered to be more like an adviser. The current Harbinger had only received the title a month earlier, but was a strong warrior. He had left for Falkreath four days earlier to receive a contract and hadn't returned. Judging by the concern in her voice Katjaa guessed the two of them to be romantically involved.

The last great building was Dragonsreach, home of Jarl Balgruuf the Greater and the seat of power in Whiterun. The hall was more than twice the size of Jorrvaskr; easily the largest construction in the entire city. Katjaa had seen it clear as day while traveling to Whiterun several hours before she reached the city's wall. It sat on the highest hill overlooking everything else: the marketplace, the town square, the housing district that held enough homes to hold at least 700 people, a large statue of Tiber Septim that couldn't possibly be legal, and the farmland outside the city.

Annoyed in her failed attempt to ease her hunger, Katjaa decided to postpone the quest and meet the Jarl. As she closed in on the stairs to Dragonsreach the tall statue of Tiber Septim once again came into view. Standing in front of the statue was a Talos worshiper rambling about the hero-god. Katjaa wondered how he managed to get away with this when the White-Gold Concordat banned the worship of the "false god" Talos throughout the Empire. _Jarl Balgruuf would be in trouble if the Thalmor knew about it. _

The Thalmor. Delphine's hate for the High Elves was much stronger than Katjaa's, but she wasn't a fan either. The Oblivion Crisis had simultaneously weakened the Empire with the end of Tiber Septim's bloodline and helped the Third Aldmeri Dominion rise. The Great War began and ended before Katjaa was born, but the ban on Talos worshiping never stopped her. She had always, for as long as she could remember, prayed to the Nine Divines, not the Eight.

Dragonsreach was just as magnificent inside. The ceiling, far above her head, was held in place with architecturally impressive arches. Custom made rugs with intricate designs laid out nicely on the hardwood floors. The building was lit up with braziers along the walls, chandeliers hanging from ceiling, and a large fire pit with a single dining table on either side filled with food that made Katjaa's mouth water in front of the throne Jarl Balgruuf sat in. Past the dining tables on both sides of the room were single, separate rooms. To the left, if you are facing the throne, was the kitchen filled with even more food and a handful of cooks preparing it. To the right was an office of sorts for the court wizard.

At least eighty people were inside the hall. Twenty of them were guards, five were cooks, a couple of maids, some children running around, the Jarl, a well armed and armored Dunmer that stood to the Jarl's left, and an Imperial in clean robes to his right. Everyone one else, mostly Nords, were arguing either back-and-forth with each other or towards Balgruuf. _I bet these people want the gates open again. _Katjaa understood that the Jarl wanted to protect these people by keeping them inside the large wall that ran around the entire city. But she also knew Helgen's wall had prevented many now-dead people from escaping the dragon's wrath.

The Breton climbed up a short flight of stairs and started pushing her way through the rowdy crowd. The closest people to the Jarl had stopped near the dining tables, but once she emerged from the group Katjaa continued towards the throne. Once she made it to the fire pit the Dark Elf removed her sword from it's sheathe and approached Katjaa.

"Halt right there!" she ordered Katjaa in a hostile tone. "What makes you so important to just waltz up here like you own the place?" Her bright red eyes stared at her without mercy. Unlike the mercenary from _The Drunken Huntsman _this Dunmer had no face paint. Her hair was a similar color to the shopkeeper's, which looked quite bizarre on her grey skin. Her leather armor looked much older than Katjaa's, but would likely hold up in battle.

"I have news from Helgen," Katjaa answered. "About the dragon."

"Well, that explains why the guards let you in," the Dark Elf said. She sheathed her sword and continued. "Come on then, the Jarl will want to speak to you personally."

Katjaa proceeded forward once the Dark Elf returned to the Jarl side. The blond Nord sitting in his throne looked to be in his late forties, but by the slightly worried expression on his face he appeared even older. His long, well groomed hair matched his beard quite well. A crown rested on top of his head, signifying his nobility as much as his clothing did. The throne he sat on was made of wood yet managed to look just as fancy as it's occupant. Above him, mounted on the wall he sat against, was a dragon skull. At least, Katjaa assumed it was, though she couldn't tell if it was real or ornamental.

"So. You were at Helgen?" he asked in a thick Nordic accent. "You saw this dragon with your own eyes?"

Katjaa nodded. "The dragon destroyed Helgen. It flew north towards Whiterun when it left."

His eyes nearly popped out of his head. "By Ysmir, Irileth was right!" He turned his head to the Imperial, who resembled the blacksmith at the city's gates. "What do you say now, Proventus? Shall we continue to trust in the strength of our walls? Against a dragon?"

"My lord, we should send troops to Riverwood at once," the Dark Elf, who Katjaa guessed to be Irileth, said.

"That's why I came here," Katjaa chimed in. "Delphine of Riverwood sent me here in hope of receiving guards for the village."

Irileth nodded in agreement. "It's in the most immediate danger, if that dragon is lurking in the mountains-"

The Imperial interrupted her by saying, "the Jarl of Falkreath will view that as provocation! He'll assume we're preparing to join Ulfric's side and attack him. We should not-"

"Enough!" Jarl Balgruuf glared angrily at his steward. "I'll not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people!" He turned to the elven woman. "Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once."

"Yes my Jarl."

Proventus sighed. "If you'll excuse me, I'll return to my duties."

"That would be best." The Jarl watched his steward walk nervously towards the crowd for a bit before returning his attention to Katjaa. "I don't believe you gave me your name."

"Katjaa Amarie."

"Well done, Katjaa Amarie. You sought me out, to aid a village of innocent people. You've done Whiterun a service, and I won't forget it."

Katjaa brushed off his praise. "It was no trouble Jarl Balgruuf. Delphine is taking care of my injured friend, so I had no reason not to help her and Riverwood."

"A favor for a favor. A fine agreement, if you ask me." The Jarl brought his hands up to his neck and unlatched a golden necklace encrusted with a ruby that had been hidden underneath his robes. "Here, takes this as a small token of my esteem. It has an enchantment of fire protection on it."

"Thank you my Jarl." She accepted the necklace and attached to her own neck. The weight was almost unnoticeable, yet the small trace of magicka radiating off of it was not. Even though Katjaa was a Breton, the human race best known for their magical abilities and natural resistance to magical attacks, she herself only had the second trait. _More protection won't hurt me any. _

"There is another thing you could do for me," The Jarl offered. "Suitable for someone of your particular talents, perhaps."

Katjaa's stomach rumbled in pain. "If it is not too much trouble, may I have some of the food lying on the table? I haven't eaten in over a day."

"Go right ahead."

Katjaa had to restrain herself from running towards the food. The closest plate had cooked venison and baked potatoes. She had devoured the food in just a few minutes, drinking two full bottles of Nord Mead right after.

She turned back to the Jarl, who had a grin on his face. "Damn, you eat like a Nord."

She used a napkin to wipe her mouth. "Sorry about that. Normally I use utensils."

"No problem." He pushed himself out of the throne, revealing his height to be equal to his fellow Nordic race. "Come, let's go find Farengar, my court wizard. He's been looking into a matter related to these dragons and... rumors of dragons."

The Jarl led her across the hall into the court wizard's office. The room was neither big nor small, though the large desk cluttered with various objects and the large pinned-up map of Skyrim took up a great deal of space. Sitting side-by-side behind the wizard were an enchanting table, currently being used by a hunched over mage that had its back turned away from Katjaa, and an alchemy table.

The wizard standing over the desk reading a book appeared to be Farengar since the Jarl's eyes were trained on him. His robes were dark blue with a white stripe extending from top to bottom at a slanted angle. The man was a Nord, which surprised Katjaa since most Nords didn't trust magic, let alone practice it. Nothing could be made out about the other mage in the room except his robes, which were a lighter shade of blue and in the shape of a poncho. The mage's hood was also up, so Katjaa couldn't uncover it's race.

Jarl Balgruuf stopped at the desk and allowed Katjaa to arrive before speaking. "Farengar. I think I found-" the Jarl's eyes switched to the other mage. "It seems we have a visitor. You could have told me the Arch-Mage arrived."

The other mage turned from the table, pulling down his hood to reveal himself as an Altmer. His pale yellow skin, amber-colored eyes, and pointed ears revealed him as such. Thin stubble was barely visible on his chin because it blended in. His hair was about the same length that Ralof's had been but a lighter color. Katjaa couldn't determine his age, but since he had no wrinkles or gray in his hair she imagined he was young by elven standards.

The Arch-Mage smiled as he spoke. "I just got to Dragonsreach a few minutes ago. You were busy yelling at that Imperial, so I figured I'd wait here until you were done. Gave me enough time to enchant this." He showed a simple looking silver ring. "This should help boost my magicka pool." His gaze switched to Katjaa. "Oh, hello there. Rimion Volanare, Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold."

"Katjaa Amarie. Previously a courier, but not anymore."

"We'll talk more in just a second, Rimion. Right now we have some official business to attend to," the Jarl said.

"Of course." Riminon sat down in a chair and signaled for the Jarl to continue.

"Farengar. I think Katjaa can help you with your dragon project. Go ahead and fill her in with all the details." The Jarl waved Rimion to follow him as they left the office.

The court wizard looked at her for a brief moment in silence, likely sizing her up. "So the Jarl thinks you can be of use to me?" He rubbed his chin for a bit then snapped his fingers. "Oh yes, he must be referring to my research into the dragons. Yes, I could use someone to fetch something for me. Well—" the mage snorted "—when I say 'fetch,' I really mean delve into a dangerous ruin in search of an ancient stone tablet that may or may not actually be there."

_Well that is pretty specific. _"What does this have to do with dragons?" Katjaa asked.

"Ah," Farengar sighed. "No mere brute mercenary, but a thinker—perhaps even a scholar?" Katjaa didn't answer. "You see, when the stories of dragons began to circulate, many dismissed them as mere fantasies, rumors. Impossibilities."

"But they are real."

Farengar nodded. "One sure mark of a fool is to dismiss anything that falls outside his experience as being impossible. But I began to search for information about dragons—where had they gone all those years ago? And where were they coming from?"

"So what do you need me to do?"

"I, ah, learned of a certain stone tablet said to be housed in Bleak Falls Barrow—a 'Dragonstone,' said to contain a map of dragon burial sites. Go to Bleak Falls Barrow, find this tablet—no doubt interred in the main chamber—and bring it to me. Simplicity itself."

_Nothing is ever that simple. _"Anything you can tell me about Bleak Falls Barrow?"

"An old tomb, built by the ancient Nords, perhaps dating back to the Dragon War itself. Ah," he sighed again. "Maybe you just want to know how to get there. It's near Riverwood, a miserable little village about a sixteen hours south of here."

Katjaa didn't like his description of Riverwood, but even more she hated the location of Bleak Falls Barrow. "I was just in Riverwood yesterday."

He oohed. "Damn, if only you would have gotten it yesterday. Would have saved some time. Oh well. I'm sure some of the locals can point you in the right direction once you get there."

_Delphine will probably know how to get there. _"How do you know this stone tablet is in Bleak Falls Barrow?"

Farengar smiled. "Well. Must preserve professional secrets, mustn't we? I have my sources... reliable sources."

Jarl Balgruuf and Rimion entered the office again. Both men were grinning, which made the Jarl look younger. He looked at Katjaa and asked, "You know what you need to do?"

"Yes sir."

"Good." He turned to Farengar. "This is a priority now. Anything we can use to fight this dragon, or dragons. We need it, quickly. Before it's too late."

"Of course, Jarl Balgruuf," Farengar said. He waved his hand at Katjaa. "You seem to have found me an able assistant."

"He's found two," Rimion said. He looked at Katjaa. "If you don't mind, Balgruuf has asked me to join you."

The Breton watched the elf, trying to hide her concern. She wasn't sure if she trusted the elf, but the Jarl apparently could. _I won't look good if I say no._ "Um... sure, you can come with me."

Jarl Balgruuf smiled. "Good luck. Succeed at this, and you'll be rewarded. Whiterun will be in your debt. Since guards will be sent to Riverwood as well, you two should wait until they are ready to leave, in case of any dragons. Probably take a couple of hours before they're are all gathered. Feel free to wait here."

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**AUTHOR'S SECOND NOTE: I plan to make every guild leader a separate character. I got this idea from the story "All Roads Lead to Denerim," which I highly recommend.**

**Please review. Why, you might ask? Because I asked nicely.**


	12. Chapter 12: Bonding on the Road

**CHAPTER TWELVE: BONDING ON THE ROAD**

**Rimion**

A total of twelve guards for Riverwood took about three hours to be gathered. Rimion used that time to gather more information about dragons and the village that the beast destroyed. He had been invited to Whiterun by the Jarl, a good friend of his, before Helgen's destruction, and only learned of it when Balgruuf asked the Arch-Mage to join Katjaa Amarie in finding the Dragonstone.

Rimion had wished to talk to the Breton who survived the dragon attack to uncover more information about the monster in the event he ever met one. She, however, decided to retreat to a room offered to her by the Jarl to rest until their journey began. He sensed she did not trust him, likely because of his race. _Profiling sucks. _

Katjaa's serious tone when Rimion was first introduced to her was almost the exact opposite of his own, more laid-back attitude. Still, he thought the human was attractive, despite him being an elf. Her long, straight, pitch-black hair looked as soft as silk, though most of it was hidden by her leather helmet. Emerald eyes shone bright off her tan skin. A golden ruby necklace bounced on her leather armor with each step. Rimion could sense it was magically enchanted, but couldn't figure out what the enchantment was since he was not wearing the necklace. Her small size, at least compared to Rimion, and steel daggers that hung from her hips marked the woman as a rogue.

At about three o' clock the twelve Whiterun guards, Rimion, and Katjaa passed through the city gates and started for Riverwood. From the village Rimion and Katjaa would travel to Bleak Falls Barrow. According to Farengar the Dragonstone would help with what he dubbed, "The Dragon Crisis," though he didn't explain how. Perhaps by finding the burial mounds that supposedly housed the ancient skeletons of dragons they could uncover what caused their return?

Rimion couldn't say for certain, but he felt Farengar was deceiving them somehow. Without any evidence to prove this theory correct, he kept it to himself.

The guards, full clad in armor and weapons at the ready in the event of an attack, marched together in two rows a couple of yards in front of Rimion, who in turn was a couple of yards ahead of Katjaa. She didn't seem as worried about a dragon appearing from nowhere, likely since she had seen it happen before. The Arch-Mage too didn't feel the need to concentrate on the sky, though he could summon a fireball and strike in the same amount of time required to unsheathe a sword. Magic. Better than any blade, in Rimion's opinion.

Not wanting to wait for Bleak Falls Barrow before they interacted with each other, Rimion slowed his pace until Katjaa caught up to him. "So Riverwood, what's it like?" he asked, attempting to start small talk.

She gave him the same suspicious look from earlier in Farengar's office before she answered. "Pretty small; less than twenty people in the entire village. The villagers seem nice enough to strangers. Delphine, innkeeper of _The Sleeping Giant__, _is watching my friend who was injured multiple times during and after the scape from Helgen in exchange for guards."

"What happened to your friend?" Rimion asked. Katjaa didn't answer, as if suddenly becoming deaf and unable to hear the mage's question. He asked again, this time in a more polite tone. No answer. "We are working together, aren't we?"

"I guess."

He waited for further elaboration, but she disappointed him. "If you have a problem with that you shouldn't have agreed to me joining you."

Katjaa scoffed. "I didn't have much of a choice, with you being the Jarl's best friend." Her suspicious look changed into a curious one. "Why is that, anyway?"

"I asked you first," Rimion responded, crossing his arms in a comical fashion.

Surprisingly the Breton weakly grinned. "Do you always act like a child, or is this a mental thing to cope with dragons?"

First he crookedly smiled then answered with: "I know you are but what am I?"

Her smile widened, showing off her near-blindingly white teeth. "That doesn't make any sense."

"I know you are but what am I?"

A genuine fit of laughter took over Katjaa; tears of joy were quickly wiped away from her eyes. _So she does have a sense of humor. Maybe we'll become friends after all. _"Valid point," she said once the giggling slowly faded away. "My friend was picked up by the dragon then dropped from the sky onto his left leg, causing it to break. We—the other escapees and I—later found out he was poisoned by the dragon's claws when they dug into his back. Then he was bitten on the same leg by a wolf when it's pack ambushed us on the way to Riverwood."

"Poor bastard," Rimion said with a smile. "That's some bad luck."

They walked in silence for a while then Katjaa nudged the elf with her elbow. "Your turn to answer my question."

"Which was?" he teased.

"What made the Jarl like you so much?"

Rimion pulled off his hood and brushed his hair away from his face. "Well it was my charming good looks and my comedic skills, of course."

"No seriously, why does he like you?"

"A few days after I became the Arch-Mage two months ago I was called to Whiterun by Jarl Balgruuf. Once I arrived he explained that his youngest son, Nelkir, had been acting up in a peculiar way. Out of the blue his mood, personality, and actions all became much darker. Not only that, but he also suddenly became informed of well-kept secrets from everyone he talked to, including myself."

"Such as?" Katjaa asked.

"My love for fine wine, the star-shaped birthmark on my shoulder, and the size of my Staff—"

Katjaa's hands shot up. "That's enough info."

"—of Thunderbolts that I left at the College." He glanced at the Breton. "What did you think I was going to say?"

"Cute," she mumbled. "But why did he call you?"

"He didn't. He called for my predecessor, Savos Aren. But since he was killed by a Thalmor agent under the influence of an ancient magical artifact that I accidentally found in a Nordic ruin—"

"What?"

"—he got me instead. But the reason he called for the Arch-Mage is because the sudden change in his young child could only be explained by magical involvement. He was right; Nelkir was being controlled by the Daedric Prince Mephala, who spoke to him from behind a door in Dragonreach's basement under the guise of 'The Whispering Door.'"

"Why would she bother with the son?" Katjaa asked. "Why not go straight for the Jarl?"

Rimion shrugged. "Daedra are very unpredictable, especially the Princes. Maybe Mephala only had access to the child, or thought she'd be more meddlesome through Nelkir?" He remembered pondering the same questions two months earlier when the Prince was still active. "Whatever the case was, Mephala began speaking directly to me, wanting me to open the door she spoke from. After obtaining the key I obliged, only to find an ebony blade that was tied to her."

"What did you do with it?"

"Took it to the Skyforge and melted it down, then locked the ingot shaped from the blade inside a safe that now sits in the depths of the White River. I was surprised the process worked, since Daedric artifacts normally are indestructible. Mephala did say the blade wasn't at its full strength, so maybe that's why. Either way once the blade and Mephala were gone Nelkir returned to his normal state and the Jarl rewarded me handsomely, in both monetary value and in friendship."

"Well done," Katjaa applauded. Rimion smiled at her, a smile she returned instantly. When she craned her neck to look up at him a faint scar previously hidden by her leather armor was now out in the open. The scar looked old, at least several months old, probably more. Curiousity made him want to learn more about it, but he stopped himself from asking in fear of ruining their conversation.

Her smiled slowly faded as she focused her attention back onto the road until it was completely gone. The scar disappeared beneath her armor once again. _Perhaps she'll tell me in time. _

The two of them walked next to each other in silence for an hour, taking in the sights of the land around them. The Arch-Mage, still wanting to know more of his new companion, decided to begin round two of small talking. "Earlier, back at Dragonsreach, you said you used to be a courier."

Katjaa's posture stiffened slightly. "Yeah, I did."

"Are you not a courier anymore?"

"Yep," she answered in a tight voice.

Rimion felt he should stop the questioning, but his mouth did not. "Why?"

Katjaa looked reluctant to answer. Just as Rimion gave up hope of her answering she did so. "My last job didn't end too well. About two months ago I accepted an offer in the Imperial City from a man I later realized was an Imperial spy." She paused. "He hired me to deliver a message to a Nord in Windhelm. A Nord named Ulfric Stormcloak."

"Did you know who it was?" Rimion asked.

She shook her head. "I knew he was an important man in Skyrim, but not that he was a Jarl and thorn in the side of the Empire and the Thalmor."

"So what was the message?"

"It was in a sealed envelope I was delivering," Katjaa explained. She inhaled then exhaled a deep breath before continuing. "I arrived in Riften a few weeks later. That's when I first realized I was being followed by Thalmor agents. In the middle of the night I paid a wagon to take me to Windhelm, hoping that I would escape them in the night. A few hours later we were attacked by Thalmor Justicars who had been tipped off about the job. The driver and his horse were killed, and I was left for dead. They took the letter and burned it in front of me."

"Is that why you don't trust me?" Rimion guessed.

Katjaa looked at him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean the horrid staring I suffered the first time I tried talking to you when we left Whiterun. Is it because of your incident with the Thalmor?" She nodded. "Well don't worry. Just because I'm an Altmer doesn't mean I share their ideals. I'm a follower of the Nine—mostly Julianos, God of Wisdom and Logic."

"Good to know," she said. "But after that, I decided to stay in Skyrim—explore the county and all it's splendors. Took a while to get used to the cold. I did whatever job was available whenever I needed the money—everything but delivering messages. Most of the time I've been hired as a sellsword."

Without thinking Rimion blurted out, "did you get that scar on your neck from the Thalmor?" Katjaa immediately developed a hurt expression. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

Her hand ran across her eyes and wiped away falling tears—speeding up her pace as she did so. "I'm gonna ask the guards when they plan on setting up for tonight."

Rimion walked alone far behind the guards and Katjaa until they all set up camp that night at ten. Several tents were set up and—because he didn't remember his own—Rimion was forced to share one with a rather gaseous guard that didn't grasp the concept of personal privacy. The Arch-Mage ended up sleeping outside in the cold in order to get any sleep at all.

They set out again after eight hours. Rimion only managed to get three hours in total of sleep. His drowsiness caused him to stumble and fall constantly, but he still kept up with the others.

Katjaa remained with the guards for almost nine hours until a stone bridge that crossed over the White River came into sight. She slowed down just as Rimion had done for her the day before and said, "we'll be in Riverwood in half an hour or so. We'll have to ask around the village for directions to Bleak Falls Barrow and resupply at The Riverwood Trader before we go. Plus I want to check on my friend—see if he's capable of going with us."

Rimion nodded. "Sounds like a plan. Listen, I'm sorry about yesterday. I say things sometimes without thinking."

"It's no big deal," Katjaa said in a tone that meant the opposite. "I overreacted. I should apologize for telling Hugar to offer you his tent last night."

The Arch-Mage couldn't help but laugh. "Somehow I knew you were behind that. If I had casted a fire spell in that tent I can guarantee our whole campsite would have blown sky-high."

Katjaa smirked. "Oblivion hath no fury like a woman scorned."

"Apparently."

From behind Rimion heard the sound of leaves crunching. He wasn't sure why since all the guards were in front of him and Katjaa. He turned his head, expecting to see a deer or some other animal. Instead he saw three Nords, all of them in ratty clothing and mismatched armor. Two of them had an iron sword drawn and a fixed stare on him and the Breton. The other had a bow and a similar stare. Katjaa gasped, but she was still looking ahead. Rimion did as well and found four more Nords in similar attire blocking the road.

The guards had already began crossing the bridge. _They don't even know._

"Hand over any coin you got, and we might let you live." One of them said. The others nodded.

"Gentleman, surely you saw those guards. Whiterun guards—renowned for their ability with a blade. Any second now they'll notice we aren't behind them and return this way." Rimion assured the bandits. He waited a minute, but the guards still marched away from them.

The Nords obviously noticed this too. "Yeah, real scared. Now, I will say this one more time. Hand over—"

A dagger hilt appeared in his unprotected chest. He looked down in surprise before collapsing into the dirt. Katjaa's arm—which had been extended in a throwing position—returned to her side and retrieved another dagger. "That was your warning," she said in a cool tone. "Go now. Or end up like him."

The three bandits in front charged at her, seemingly ignoring her threat. Katjaa charged at the closest man and slashed at his face. He dodged the small blade and swung his sword at her head. She dropped down and stabbed him in a small opening between two plates of his armor.

Rimion was impressed but had no time to admire her skill. He swiveled around just in time to see an arrow stick the tree next to him.

The archer began to pull back another arrow, but was stopped by an ice spike that erupted from Rimion's extended palm. His comrades looked back only for a second to see the fallen archer before continuing towards the mage.

Another ice spike shot from Rimion's hand but landed in the target's shoulder. The uninjured Nord aimed his sword at the elf's stomach but Rimion knocked it away with a conjured sword.

He swung his ghostly blade at the man but was parried and knocked into the dirt. The sudden fall broke his concentration; the conjured sword faded away into nothingness.

As the bandit's sword was nearing Rimion's face he instinctively shot flames at the man, managing to burn his eyes.

The bandit who had been struck by the ice spike recovered just as his fellow began running towards the river to cool off his face. He only walked two steps forward before a lightning bolt passed through his heart from several feet away. He was dead before he hit the ground.

"Katjaa!" Rimion hopped onto his feet and looked at the Breton, expecting her to be in trouble. Instead two of the (previously) three remaining Nords were dead while the third one was losing to Katjaa. She had a small scratch on her left cheek but otherwise was fine. In fact, she was smiling—possibly enjoying the action, Rimion dared guessing.

Another ice spike was being formed in the mage's hand when Katjaa's dagger passed over her assailant's throat. His blood quickly started to seep from the wound. He dropped his sword and cupped his hands on his neck. It proved to be pointless, as he dropped to his knees and soon after fell to the earth.

Katjaa looked up at Rimion with a grin on her face. She looked behind him and saw the bandits he fought for the first time. "Not bad," she said.

Rimion approached her and placed his hand on her cheek, using Restoration magic to heal her. The scratch disappeared completely. "I'd say you did better, but I didn't get hurt at all," he bragged.

She crouched down and tore some fabric from a bandit's shirt. As she wiped away the blood on her cheek she pointed out to the river. "I killed all of mine though. You didn't do so well at that."

Rimion followed her finger and saw the bandit he burned with his head dunked in the water. "Forgot about him."

"Should we kill him?" Katjaa asked as she retrieved her first dagger from the Nord's chest she threw it into, wiping it on his body.

"Nah. He's suffered enough. Unless he strikes first, he can live."

They took a few minutes to drag the bodies off the road. Katjaa looted the corpses as well—something that kind of freaked Rimion out. But since she no longer looked mad or sad he kept his thoughts to himself. She found fifteen Septims and a garnet; both things were placed into her pack.

Once the two of them were done moving the bodies they continued towards the bridge.

Half an hour later, a village came into sight. Rimion guessed it to be Riverwood. _Not much to see here._ Four Whiterun guards stood atop a small wall that the road went through. "Where did you two go?" One asked when he and Katjaa neared the wall.

"Sightseeing." Katjaa looked at him with the same smile that from their previous battle and giggled about his ridiculous answer.

She stopped outside the first building they came across. It was a small inn called _The Sleeping Giant Inn. _"My friend should be in here. The innkeeper might be able to give us directions to Bleak Falls Barrow, or point us to someone who can."

"Lead the way."

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**AUTHOR'S NOTE: I am going to go ahead and say I am not very good at writing combat scenes. If you want it improved you can give me some pointers in the review section or become a beta-reader and complain about my horrid writing before the chapter is published. **

**Still, positive feedback please.**


	13. Chapter 13: The Sleeping Giant Inn

**AUTHOR'S FIRST NOTE (UPDATED): Originally I made the average lifespan of the Altmer to be about 300 years because I had no idea of what the actually lifespan was. But according to the Elder Scrolls wiki Mer can live for a thousand years.**

**So I decided to make this the average lifespan of elves in the story as well. I like to think of it like this: one Man year is equivalent to ten Mer years. Example: A Man that is twenty-years-old=A Mer that is two hundred-years-old. **

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**CHAPTER THIRTEEN: THE SLEEPING GIANT INN **

**Arenar**

Arenar took a sip of his ale, given to him for free by Orgnar, Delphine's husband who worked as a bartender and cook at_ The Sleeping Giant Inn. _Ralof and Hadvar had left the day before, so the Imperial sat alone in the chair he had been dying in a few days earlier, staring at the blazing fire pit in front of him.

His left leg and back were feeling better, thanks to his Restoration magic and healing potions. What had been a severely broken leg now felt more like a severely sprained ankle, and all the dragon's poison was out of his body. The deep gashes on his back, still covered with bandages under his shirt, would remain as scars, but Arenar didn't care.

But his magical abilities (or lack thereof) only allowed him to do the weakest of healing spells for just over a minute. His magicka regeneration took just about a day to refill enough to cast the spell. He suspected he would need another two days of healing and recuperation before he could meet Katjaa in Whiterun.

_If I had more healing potions I could get there sooner. _He dismissed the thought. The Riverwood Trader was robbed of most of its goods the night before his group arrived in the village, including almost all the potions for sale. Orgnar offered to make Arenar some homemade potions at his alchemy table the afternoon Katjaa left.

After the concoction paralyzed Arenar for half an hour, he decided just to rely on his magic.

At about three in the afternoon Orgnar was preparing some sort of stew in the kitchen behind the bar. The smell wasn't exactly pleasant, but with him unable to walk without cringing in pain he didn't object once he was handed a bowl.

He picked up the brown liquid with his spoon and poured it back with a disgusted look on his face. "So... what is this exactly?"

"Food."

"Are you sure?"

Orgnar shrugged. "If you think this looks bad, you should see Delphine try to make something half this appealing." He turned and walked back to the bar where he had a bowl for himself.

For the first time Arenar noticed someone was missing. "Where is Delphine anyway?"

"Out." He stared at his stew as he ate it.

_A man of few words, it seems. _"Out where?"

He had to wait until Orgnar swallowed his food. "She left for Whiterun last night. No—I don't know why, so don't ask." He pointed to the bowl in Arenar's hands. "Better eat that before it gets cold. I'm not making anymore til dinnertime."

Arenar rose a filled spoon to his mouth and placed is gently on his tongue. Luckily the taste was better than the smell, though not by much. The stew was thick—chewy almost—and heavy. In hope of improving the taste, the Imperial emptied the rest of his ale into the bowl. He filled the spoon again and put it into his mouth—then happily smiled when the mixture proved more flavorful.

The door behind him opened. Arenar suspected the town drunk—Embry—had entered the building since every time the Nord had left the inn he returned sometime soon after, likely to remedy his hangover with more alcohol.

To his surprise when he turned his head it wasn't the drunken Nord. Instead it was Katjaa and a High Elf. She looked the same as she had the morning she left _The Sleeping Giant Inn _excluding a ruby necklace that hung around her neck. Upon further examination he saw small specks of blood on her armor. None looked to belong to her, but it was still surprising.

The Altmer next to her did not have any blood on him. He was of average height for his race and had the same pale yellow skin and amber eyes that his people were known for. Blond stubble matched his blond hair underneath his hood. His robe was a bluish-gray color with white fur lining the edges. Equipped on his bare hands were several rings made of different metals and embellished with different gems. Arenar imagined they were all enchanted if his clothing was any indication that he was a mage.

The elf's age couldn't be determined just by looking at him, like with most elves due to their average lifespan of 1000 years. But Arenar knew that the mer was 227-years-old the second he saw him.

He smiled at the mage, which said mage returned. "Rimion Volanare?"

"Damn... it's been too long." Rimion said. He walked over and sat in the chair next to him. "Arenar, I have to admit something."

"Which is?"

"You look like shit."

Both men erupted into laughing fits. Arenar, while gasping for air, suddenly remember that his oldest friend—in both the man's age and how long they had known each other—had left Cyrodiil for the College of Winterhold a year ago. Rimion offered the Imperial to join him, but was turned down because of Arenar's lack of magical aptitude.

Once the laughing died down Katjaa sat down in the chair next to Rimion and said, "so you two know each other?"

Rimion nodded. "I can't believe that you didn't mention your injured friend was the Nerev—"

"So how are things at the College?" Arenar asked. He hoped the elf would sense the interruption was more than just to hear about Rimion's past year in Skyrim.

To his merit the elf seemed to acknowledge this. "Pretty good. I became the Arch-Mage a couple of months ago when I indirectly killed the last one."

"I'd ask more, but I am a little more curious about something else." Arenar turned to the Breton, who was eyeing his stew with an expression similar to his own while eating it. "Why are you here, instead of Whiterun?"

She looked away from the bowl. "Are you not happy to see me?"

"It's not that. I just expected you to wait there until I arrived." He rubbed his bad leg. "Though that would have been another couple of days."

Katjaa opened her mouth to respond but Rimion asked while pointing to the Imperial's leg, "you want me to heal that?"

"Go right ahead."

Rimion's hands glowed with an orange tint. Arenar pulled up his pant leg and removed the bandages that covered his wolf bite. The elf's hands carefully rubbed the wound—quickly repairing both the internal and external damage. He kept up this stronger healing spell for several minutes.

He removed his hands and the spell faded away. "That should fix everything."

Arenar placed the stew on the ground next to the empty bottle and tested his leg. Just like Rimion said all the pain was gone. Even Arenar's back felt slightly better.

"Anything else need healing?"

Arenar shook his head. "My back's not doing so hot, but my leg was much worse." He grinned towards the mage. "Thanks."

Rimion simply brushed the hair away from his face. "I'm sure you'd do the same thing for me, if your magic wasn't rubbish."

The Imperial returned to his seat and looked at Katjaa again. "So what brings you back to Riverwood?"

"I did as Delphine requested: I asked Jarl Balgruuf to send guards to Riverwood. After I confirmed a dragon attacked Helgen he readily did so. Then he assigned me to a quest for a Nordic relic related to dragons called 'The Dragonstone.' According to his court wizard it's in Bleak Falls Barrow—the ruins on top of the mountain west of here."

"I volunteered to join her while we were at Dragonsreach." Rimion added.

Katjaa continued. "I was going to ask Delphine for directions to the ruins, but she doesn't seem to be here. Do you know where she is?"

"I figured you would have seen her. Orgnar said she left for Whiterun last night," Arenar said.

"I didn't see her," Katjaa said. She looked at Rimion. "You slept outside most of the night. Did you see her?"

"I didn't _see _anyone, but I heard someone walk past the camp at around four in the morning. I looked around for the person but whoever it was wasn't using the main road," Rimion answered.

"I wonder why she wouldn't have gone to Whiterun with me if she planned on going to the city anyway?" Katjaa asked to herself. "Well that presents a new problem. We need directions to Bleak Falls Barrow. If not Delphine, then who—"

"Orgnar!"

The Nord looked up from his food.

"How can we get to Bleak Falls Barrow from here?"

"Take the northern road out-of-town. Once you cross the bridge there is a dirt path northwest of it that takes you up the mountain. From there you should be able to find your way."

Arenar nodded. "Thanks."

"If you go there, watch out for bandits. They like to hide out in the small fort outside of the ruins." Orgnar went back to eating, as if he hadn't stopped.

"We ran into bandits near the bridge," Rimion said. "But we took them out rather easily."

_So that's where the blood on her armor came from. _Arenar looked at Katjaa. "Are you okay?"

She sighed. "I'm fine. You don't need to ask me every time I get into a fight."

"Alright, I won't bother you about it so often," Arenar promised. He picked up the bowl and took a spoon full of his stew and immediately regretted it; the food was lukewarm. "So when will we head out?"

"We planned to resupply before leaving, so once we do that we'll go."

"Not gonna happen," Arenar said flatly.

"Why?"

"The Riverwood Trader was robbed while we were still in Helgen," Arenar reminded her.

The Breton slapped her forehead. "I completely forgot about that!" She looked annoyed, but her expression changed quickly to a more curious one. "I wonder if the same bandits who attacked us were the same ones who robbed the store? If they are, maybe the shopkeeper can tell us more about them?"

"It's possible," Rimion guessed.

Katjaa stood up from her chair and started for the door. "I'll go check it out. You two want to join me?"

Arenar shook his head. "I need to get my armor on. Shouldn't take too long, so meet me back here when you're done."

"What about you?"

"Nah," Rimion rejected. "I'll wait here with Arenar." He gave the Imperial a cheeky smile. "Make sure he doesn't hurt himself too bad, what with his ability to injure himself frequently."

Katjaa smirked. "Good point." With that she left _The Sleeping Giant Inn. _

"Follow me—we have a lot to talk about," Arenar requested. He stood—again happily without pain, thanks to the elf's more powerful magic—and led Rimion to his room. Once both men were inside the Imperial shut the door behind them. His steel sword rested in a sheath at the end of his bed. On his chair—where his blood-stain cloak rested before he threw it into the fire pit the day before—was his set of iron armor, given to him for free by Alvor, Hadvar's blacksmith uncle.

Well, maybe "armor" wasn't the right word.

The helmet protected the top half and back of his head; from his nose down his entire face was exposed. Wide eye-slots prevented little of his sight from being obscured, but were large enough to be an easy target for an able archer. Protruding from both sides were short decorative horns that slightly curved inward. The horns served no real function, but couldn't be removed either, so Arenar left them.

His cuirass was actually composed of two separate pieces held together by leather straps: one that covered his chest and another for his back. It had a V-shaped neckline and a somewhat upside-down version of the same shape that revealed most of his lower abdomen. The armor stopped at his shoulders; his arms were completely unprotected save for part of both wrists. Arenar's thick, blue short-sleeved shirt covered almost as much of his body as the cuirass did.

Leather gloves with iron plating strapped around them to cover his wrists were his gauntlets—by the loosest term. It was unlikely that an opponent would ever go for his wrists, so their protection was basically everything but. The only positive thing about his gloves was he could easily slip in-and-out of them without the Moon-and-Star complicating the process.

The boots were a similar case. Instead of iron boots he was given leather ones with iron plating that would strap onto them to cover his ankles. The iron plating did cover more area than the wrist-versions did, but the entire backside of his boots were just as unprotected as his arms.

All in all it was one of the worst excuses for armor he had ever seen, but the lack of protection allowed him more maneuverability than a normal set of heavy armor would give him. _Hopefully that makes up for the multiple stabbings I'll receive in return. _

Rimion noticed the faults also. "Hope you didn't pay for that. I wouldn't."

"It was given to me as a gift," Arenar explained. "I just wish more time and sense went into making this like Katjaa's was."

The elf sat down on the bed and examined the sword sitting next to him while Arenar began to equip his armor. "This is a fine sword... but what happened to the one that used to belong to Nerevar? What was its name again?"

Arenar suddenly paused after sliding the first gauntlet onto his right hand. "Trueflame. That was its name."

He paused, hoping that the elf wouldn't he didn't entirely answer the question. But when Rimion began to motion for him to continue he swore under his breath.

"It was taken by Imperial soldiers when I was killed outside the Skyrim border."

Rimion's brow rose. "When did this happen?"

"About four days ago. I walked into a Stormcloak camp by mistake a few minutes before an Imperial ambush. I tried to escape but I ran into a horse-thief cloaked by darkness. An Imperial captain bashed my face with her steel boot—that's where this scar came from. Woke up early the next day and traveled to Helgen."

"That's when I found out the Stormcloaks were being held in Helgen's Keep. Ulfric Stormcloak had stopped his men from attacking me, so I figured I owed the man. So I made my way to the dungeons undetected and broke him and the other prisoners out of jail. Katjaa was among them."

"The rest you probably know: a dragon attacked the village, it poisoned me and broke my leg, me and Katjaa—along with a Stormcloak named Ralof and an Imperial soldier name Hadvar—escaped Helgen, and eventually we made our way to Riverwood."

"You're right about the last bit; that I knew. But Katjaa didn't tell me anything about being arrested and meeting you in a dungeon," Rimion said. He glanced at the ring on Arenar's left hand. "She also didn't mention you dying, but I suspect she didn't know about that either."

"She didn't."

Rimion silently nodded. "I figured she knew about you, considering her constantly referring to you as her friend. Guess I got lucky when I found out you were the Nerevarine."

"It's not exactly something people take lightly."

"I'm sure you're just telling them wrong. Next time, try saying 'Oh, by the way, I am the reincarnation of the last Chimer leader, who was murdered by his wife and friends when they wished to become gods. Don't worry about them; they're dead now. You're welcome. Also, I can't die. Sure, I'll bleed out and stop breathing for a while, but I'll be back.'"

Arenar smiled and continued to put on the rest of his armor. "Maybe you're right. Or maybe you're a dumbass. Probably both."

"Well... at least I'm right." Rimion's smile faded. "Are you going to tell her?"

The Imperial shrugged. "Not right now. There's something about her..."

"Gossip time? I love gossip time!"

"No. She reminds me of someone I loved. Her name was Lielle. She died thirty years ago at the beginning of the Great War by the hands of the Thalmor." Rimion's expression looked slightly guilty. "I didn't mean it like that. I know you didn't do any of that stuff."

"Still, it's kinda sick I almost did those things. Glad my career as a Thalmor agent began and ended in the same week. My hands are clean, unlike most of my race." Rimion admitted.

"But Katjaa and Lielle... They have the exact same hairstyle, hair color, eye color, height..." Arenar trailed off, listing more similarities as he finished the straps on his boots and gloves. "...and all of that could be coincidental, but Katjaa has a scar across her neck exactly where Lielle's was fatally cut. That's way beyond coincidental. That's just—"

"Unbelievable." Arenar nodded in agreement. "I've never heard of such a thing. At least, not as detailed as your account. Perhaps they're related?"

"Lielle never mentioned a relative. She even said she was a single child and that both her parents were as well."

Rimion rubbed his chin. "I'd suggest magic was involved, but if so it's a spell unknown to me."

Arenar sighed as he slowly lowered his cuirass onto his body. "Whatever the cause is behind this, keep it to yourself. I don't want to scare Katjaa with this—I don't want to scare her away."

"I won't," Rimion promised. "But she obviously cares about you. Even if you seem to be a bit overprotective." Arenar opened his mouth to argue but Rimion's finger rose. "Let me finish. Now I'm not saying she would believe you about Lielle—I barely believe it, since it's such an outlandish thing. However, I doubt she scares easily. Besides, the whole 'immortal' thing would probably scare her more, if at all."

Arenar picked up his helmet and hooked it to his belt by one of the horns. _Perhaps these things are useful for something after all. _"Probably. Well, let's head back out into the main room. Katjaa shouldn't be much longer.

Rimion nodded. The elf followed Arenar back to the room and sat down next to him. A few minutes passed before Katjaa entered inn, and when she did another woman was behind her. Arenar recognized the fellow Imperial as Lucan's sister, as she had been talking to the bard the day before for several hours, though her couldn't remember her name.

Katjaa stopped in front of both men. "Camilla here thinks they are the same bandits. Go ahead and tell them."

The other woman—Camilla—spoke. "One of the things stolen from us was a golden claw. Lucan found it a year after he opened the shop. He never quite explained where he got it. He's a tricky one."

"I'm sorry, but how does that help?" Arenar asked.

"I know what she's talking about," Rimion said. He reached around his neck and presented an amulet with carvings that appeared Nordic. "I used several claws when I was scavenging around to make this amulet. They are used to open ancient Nordic puzzle doors. Without the right claw you won't be able to pass the door."

The elf's eyes began to fill with questions, though only one passed his lips. "On the bottom of the claw were there any inscriptions of some kind?"

"There were images of animals. A bear, a moth, and an owl, if I remember correctly."

Rimion snapped his fingers. "Then those bandits likely knew about that your golden claw went with a door in Bleak Falls Barrow." He stood abruptly. "We should leave right now, else they might take the Dragonstone."

Arenar followed the example. "I agree."

Katjaa turned to Camilla. "We'll return the golden claw to you if we can, and any other supplies that they stole from you."

"Thank you."

"Alright, let's go," Arenar walked to the door and opened it, taking in a breath of fresh air as he did so. The last time he was outside was when he had retrieved his armor a few hours after Katjaa left the first time. He cursed in pain nearly every step of the way there and back.

But now he was back to his peak condition. He removed the helmet from his belt and placed it on his head. He turned back to Katjaa and Rimion, who stood right behind him with eager expressions. "To Bleak Falls Barrow."

* * *

**AUTHOR'S SECOND NOTE: I honestly couldn't think of a good title for this chapter, so I just named it after their location. If anyone wants to suggest a new one, go right ahead.**

**I came up with the Arenar/Rimion friendship in the middle of writing this chapter. Don't worry, I will give a back story to this odd friendship between the former Thalmor and the Nerevarine sometime soon. Likely somewhere between now and the next five chapters.**

**Reviews=Happiness. Make me happy.**


	14. Chapter 14: Bleak Falls Barrow

**(REUPLOADED: I confused "Fus" with "Dah." That error has been corrected, though no one seemed to notice and/or care. Next time I mess up with something like that yell at me in a review or private message.)**

**AUTHOR'S FIRST NOTE: I changed the name "Word Wall" with "Dragon Wall." To me Word Wall implies that they already know a shout is going to be learned from it. I don't like that. Instead I believe "Dragon Wall" implies that they are related to the dragons, which they are.**

**If you don't like it, I'm sorry but I do.**

* * *

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN: BLEAK FALLS BARROW**

**Katjaa**

The webs compressed around Rimion before the spider even appeared.

Up until then the group had been unstoppable.

All of the bandits that dared to attack them were almost immediately put down. The Altmer's magic and Katjaa's daggers did their fair share of damage, but the main force was Arenar and his steel sword.

The Imperial fought like it was an art. Each strike found it's target with masterful precision. The rare times his opponents managed to lash out in retaliation he dodged effortlessly. While both she and Rimion ended up with a couple scrapes each from their few personal battles that the mage healed right away, Arenar was only covered in sweat and the blood of his foes.

His crazed smile that appeared every time he felled someone reminded Katjaa of her own. Seeing him happy after watching him almost die several times in one day was a nice sight.

Bleak Falls Barrow was the first ruin that Katjaa had ever entered, yet it looked exactly as she imagined it would. Dust and cobwebs covered nearly every square inch of the interior. Carvings of ancient, nameless Nordic figures were inscribed into most objects they passed by. Rusted objects used by the ancient Nords that built the place showered chests with equally-rusted locks.

But other things took her by surprise. Some of the chests they discovered held fairly new objects. These included Septims, gems, rings, necklaces, etc. Katjaa stored the coins and gems into her pack, hoping to sell them later at the nearest merchant. _Maybe these things belonged to the bandits? _

Giant rat-like vermin that Rimion called "skeevers" constantly appeared from nowhere and (hopelessly) attacked the group. She couldn't figure out how they managed to survive solely on the spoiled food sometimes placed in urns and containers. Arenar guessed they came from outside through collapsed portions of the ruins. Whenever she collected a small item that looked like it was stolen from a store (she came across a cast iron pot at one point. _Why do bandits need a cast iron pot?_), she made a mental note to return it to Camilla.

Another surprising feature was the first trap. The only bandit no one in the group killed had died from a puzzle that was likely put in place to keep out trespassers and grave-robbers. In the middle of the room was a lever to unlock the gate that prevented him from going farther into the ruins which the Nord promptly pulled on without caution. Immediately poisoned needles directed at him shot without mercy, killing him before he hit the ground.

As it turned out the puzzle was easily solved. To the left of the lever were three rotatable pillars with a symbol inside each of the three facets. Statues baring the same three symbols hung overhead the door locked by the puzzle. One of the statues had fallen sometime ago, but the symbol of a snake could still be made out. The group matched the pillars into the same order as the statues appeared then cautiously pulled the lever.

The gate lowered into the cave floor, and the group nearly charged through it—in fear the trap that killed the Nord before them could be faulty after such a long time and would still fire upon them.

A little while after solving the puzzle—while descending down a spiral staircase—a faint voice began calling out for help. It was barely audible—likely it was an echo bouncing throughout Bleak Falls Barrow— but Rimion recognized the accent the voice used was that of a male Dunmer.

"Do you think that's Arvel?" Rimion asked.

Both Katjaa and Arenar shrugged. The first bandits they encountered inside mentioned a Dunmer named Arvel going ahead of his underlings. _If it _is _him, how did he get past the puzzle without disarming it? Or did he re-arm it?_

After another twenty minutes of walking—the screaming Dark Elf growing louder and louder all the while—a doorway in front of the group was completely closed off by a thick wall of webbing. Behind the doorway the voice was so loud Katjaa guessed whoever was in trouble was beyond the web.

Portions of the wall near the closed off door had collapsed over time, allowing Katjaa to look at the room ahead of her.

Much of the floor and ceilings were covered in the same thick webs. Giant egg sacs sat in one corner of the room. _Great. More giant spiders. _Katjaa gasped when she looked above the sacs to find man-shaped web cocoons suspended from the ceiling. None of them were squirming, so whoever might have been trapped inside were either immobilized or dead.

If it was Arvel shouting, she couldn't see him—the hole in the wall wasn't large enough to determine exactly who was shouting.

"Hello?" Arenar called out.

The consistent shouting ceased instantly. "Who's there? Harknir? Bjorn? It's me, Arvel! Get me down from here!"

"Your fellows are dead," Katjaa informed Arvel.

A short, silent pause. "I don't know those people."

Rimion chuckled. "Smooth," he whispered, "I can't believe the leader of a rag-tag group of bandits wouldn't be wise enough to come up with a better lie."

"We heard them name you as their boss before we put them down," Arenar informed the man. "Do you still have the golden claw?"

"How do you know about that?"

"You stole it from The Riverwood Trader. Along with healing potions that nearly cost me my life."

"I doubt that," Rimion said aside.

The Imperial elbowed the Arch-Mage in his ribs. Rimion pretended to be innocent, but still looked sincerely sorry for his comment. _What's that all about? _

"I'll ask one more time," Arenar warned in a threatening tone. "Do you have the golden claw?"

"Yes, yes! It's in my pocket."

"If you hand it over to us we'll spare your life."

"I can't!"

"Why not?"

"Come in here and you'll see!"

Rimion sighed. "He might as well say: 'Something trapped me here. Come kill it.'"

"If anything it's probably a giant spider; like the ones under Helgen," Katjaa suggested. "The largest one was almost killed immediately by fire."

"That makes sense," Rimion said. "Most spiders in Skyrim are of the species, 'Frostbite Spiders.' They hate the heat. Good idea to live in this country if that's true."

"In that case..." Arenar stepped back and shoved the Arch-Mage forward. "...the master of Destruction spells can go first."

"Oh, you don't want to kill it like everything else?"

"Nah, you can get this one buddy."

Rimion snorted. "Gee, thanks." A small ball of fire appeared in the Altmer's palm. He aimed his hand at the webbed door and a wave of fire erupted upon it. The webs disintegrated into ashes at his feet.

The group entered the room and stopped near the back wall. A couple yards away to their left was a small Dunmer trying to break free from webbing that trapped him and closed off a second doorway. Katjaa almost laughed at seeing the bandit leader kicking his legs back-and-forth, attempting to fall back on to the ground.

Arvel stopped struggling once the group entered the room. "Get me down from here!"

Rimion stepped forward. "Where's the spi—"

A net of web shot down from a hole in the ceiling, striking the High Elf and trapping him to the floor. As Katjaa and Arenar drew their weapons from their sheaths a spider twice the size of the giant one from Helgen dropped down from the same hole. It made a horrible shriek and spat a green fluid from its disgusting mouth at the Imperial.

He spun away from the liquid a second before it struck him. Instead it landed on the ground behind him and it began to sizzle and melt through the floor.

"Don't touch it!" Arenar warned.

_Duh._

Katjaa retreated into the shadows and began to sneak behind the spider. Meanwhile Arenar was doing quick stabs into the arachnid, dodging and ducking everything it threw at him: sharp legs, constrictive webbing, and acidic spit.

An explosion of swirling fire surrounded Rimion, burning the web that bound him to the ground but leaving him completely unharmed. Another wave of fire spewed from his hands on to the spider, but it continued to fight Arenar without pause.

"It's not working!" Rimion yelled. Sweat began to drip from his face. Katjaa hoped it was because of the heat and not a sign of slowing down because she was just a few feet away from the spider.

Arenar hacked at the leg closest to him and cleaved through it. The spider shrieked again—this time it was much louder and more agonized than before—and lunged on top of him. The Imperial moved too slow and couldn't avoid being toppled. It began to drool on him, melting his cuirass in several places.

Katjaa signaled Rimion to halt his spell. He complied then she leaped as high as she could and landed on the spider's back. It's focus now trained on her, it began to try to buck her and ignored Arenar. He picked himself off the ground—luckily unharmed as the acid hadn't burned all the way through his iron armor.

She plunged her daggers into its head one after another. Several repetitions later the spider slumped over, dead.

"Nice job," Arenar congratulated after she cleaned her daggers on it's back and climbed down.

The fire circling Rimion disappeared in an instant. "Damn thing. I'm gonna find webs in my hair for a week. Why couldn't it do that to you two?"

Arenar wiped the blood off his sword on the spider's head. "You should consider yourself lucky." He sheathed his sword and turned to the elf. "I've run into spiders with acidic webbing. It would have burned straight through your robes and into your skin in the same time it took you to cast a flame cloak."

"How's your armor holding up?" Katjaa asked.

"Better than I would have expected," Arenar admitted. "Glad it didn't drool on my stomach since Alvor decided to leave that unprotected. I swear this thing must have been made when Alvor just an apprentice considering how impractical it is."

"Good job to all of you!" Arvel cheered. They all turned around to see the Dunmer smiling gratefully at them. "Especially you, young lady. Not many women could have done that; I'm surprised you didn't hurt yourself."

_Asshole. _"Golden claw. Where is it?"

"It's in my back pocket! Cut me down and I'll give it to you!"

Katjaa sighed. "No games." Arvel quickly nodded. "Okay. Arenar, help me with this, will ya?"

She and Arenar approached the man with their blades out. A couple of minutes of cutting through the thick webs and cursing at the surprising difficulty of doing so passed before the Dunmer was free.

"I probably could have burnt him out," Rimion pointed out. "Dunmer have a high tolerance to fire spells, after all."

Both she and Arenar turned to look at the mage. "That's not exactly moral, even if he is a bandit."

Arenar nodded. "Plus you might have damaged the golden claw." He looked over his shoulder to where Arvel fell. "So can—"

The Dark Elf was gone.

"Dammit Rimion! You let him get away!"

Arenar ran through the door, followed by Katjaa and Rimion a few steps behind him. As they went through the different corridors and rooms that Arvel escaped into the Imperial and High Elf argued about the bandit.

"It wasn't all my fault he got away," Rimion said.

"Whose is it? Katjaa's?"

"Don't bring me into this," she begged.

"Someone should have kept an eye on him."

"We had our backs to him while talking to YOU. You, however, were facing us, so you could have easily watched him."

"So?"

"So why couldn't that _someone _be you?"

"Because I cannot be held accountable for important things," Rimion said in a teasing voice. _I don't think he's actually arguing. _

Arenar didn't seem to realize it. "What in Oblivion are you talking about? You're the damn Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold! How can you say something like that?"

"By having others take care of my duties, of course."

"You're really annoying sometimes. You're aware of this, I assume?"

"Of course I am," Rimion assured, "since I am annoying you on purpose."

Arenar didn't say anything else after that. Katjaa couldn't see his face but she thought he likely felt embarrassed by the trap Rimion caught him in.

Rimion, on the other hand, was laughing his ass off.

A little while after the elf stopped laughing the group heard the sound of screaming. After descending down a flight of stairs they walked into a catacomb filled with many decomposed bodies of ancient Nords.

Just in time to see a decomposed body slice off Arvel's head with a battle-axe.

"What the—"

All three of the walking dead faced the group at once.

The shambling corpses were unnerving to look at. Their skin was so dried-out it looked like leather, but was grey in color. Bones, veins, and muscles were clearly visible—an obvious side-effect of being dead for who-knows-how-many years—in every place not protected by rusted and degraded armor. The ancient weapons they held were in a similar state. Beards that could only be grown by a Nordic warrior hung wildly from each one's face.

Somehow Katjaa found the creepiest part was their eyes, which were actually blueish-green glowing orbs of light that focused on her and her companions.

She couldn't say for certain but their intense staring looked like one of hatred.

The corpse with a battle-axe charged at Arenar—as he was at the head of the group—with a surprising speed for a dead man. Behind it the other two corpses ran at the Arch-Mage and the Breton.

A shield carrying corpse ran for the High Elf while one that held only a longsword went for Katjaa instead. She ran to the empty side of the catacomb to allow her more space to fight. The corpse promptly followed.

It's longsword swung down on her with deadly intent. She blocked the attack with her daggers but nearly fell to the ground from the sheer force delivered by the strike.

Not pausing to let her attack, it immediately followed up by aiming for her throat. Katjaa ducked and thrust a dagger in between the creature's ribs.

It cried out—more in anger than in pain (if it could even feel pain)—then swiped it's empty hand at her face. It's long fingernails dug into her skin.

Katjaa pushed it away—knocking it on to the ground—to regain her composure. Her hand reached up to feel the fresh wound. It bled only a little, but stung like crazy.

From behind her she heard another shout, though this one sounded like it belong to one of her allies. This followed by a sickening smell that could only be burning flesh.

Despite her instincts telling her not to, she peeked at the battle behind her.

Arenar was using the creature's slow striking against it. Each time he dodged or parried the battle-axe he would quickly stab it in its exposed chest. He faced a problem similar to Katjaa's: nothing seemed to actually hurt the corpse.

Rimion was having better luck. Another flame cloak protected his body while he fought with the corpse that had a shield and mace. He was using a summoned sword to fight the creature but the fire that orbited around him, singeing the dead man each time he came in to attack, seemed to do more damage than the sword itself.

She returned her attention to the corpse she was fighting just as it got back to its feet. It swung for her head but missed by a small margin.

Her daggers found their way into both eye sockets, twisting and turning in hope of causing whatever internal damage could be done.

It went limp and fell to the ground. She waited for it to get back up, but it never did. _Guess these things_ can_ die, again. _

"Go for the eyes!" Katjaa suggested. She turned around again to see Arenar take her advice and plunge his steel sword into his creature's left eye after another successful dodge. His opponent also collapsed instantly.

Rimion kicked away the burnt body and shot an ice spike from each hand into the creature's eyes. It died as well.

"What are these things?" Arenar asked, who, for the first time, had a gash in his sword arm. _I guess the strike-and-retreat tactic emerged from a less successful one. __  
_

As Katjaa put away her daggers Rimion answered. "Draugr. Ancient Nords who've decided that they rather liked Mundus and never went to Sovngarde. Or so I claim, anyway. I've fought a few in the past, though I never did think to go for the eyes." He glanced at Katjaa. "You fought these before?"

She shook her head. "Just did it in hope of blinding the thing. I didn't expect the eyes to be such a fatal place to attack."

Arenar walked over to Arvel's body and flipped it over. He reached down into the Dunmer's back pocket and retrieved a small four-fingered claw completely made of gold. Three of the fingers ended in sharp, curved points while the fourth looked more like a thumb.

He handed it to Katjaa who placed it in her pack. After her and Arenar had their wounds healed by Rimion the group easily evaded an obvious trap and continued further into Bleak Falls Barrow.

More draugr came at them—almost every time they entered a new room or passageway—but they fell into a regular pattern. Rimion would take out as many as he could from a distance then Arenar and Katjaa would stab the eyes of whatever remained standing. By doing this no one ended up injured.

A set of wooden doors eventually appeared. Katjaa hoped that they would lead into the main chamber of the ruins so they could grab the Dragonstone and go because they had been inside the ruins for about three hours in total. She guessed the time to be about ten because it took them about four hours to arrive here from Riverwood. She swung the doors open eagerly—only to be disappointed when the doors merely seemed to separate one part of the temple with another.

Another hour of traveling deeper into the ruins and killing draugr eventually brought the group in front of another set of doors.

"Hope that we can get that Dragonstone soon," Rimion said, rubbing his eyes. "I am really tired, and I'd rather not sleep in here if it can be avoided."

"Agreed," Arenar said. He pushed open the doors.

This time, instead of the usual crumbled walls of an ancient Nordic temple, what was on the other side was surprising. A long well-lit hallway spanned before the group. _How are those braziers lit?__ None of the bandits made it this far, and I doubt the draugr care much for light. _

Unlike the rest of Bleak Falls Barrow, this hallway was well-preserved. If not for the cobwebs the place could have passed for brand new. On either side of the hall the walls were engraved with the same image: men—probably Nords—walking towards a woman in robes. After a couple of steps the scene was slightly altered. A man in robes holding a staff in each hand replaced the woman.

"What is this place?" Katjaa wondered.

"This is a Hall of Stories," Rimion answered. "I guess this confirms it: this place was built during the Dragon Wars, though likely in dedication to a Dragon Priest instead of the beasts themselves."

"How can you tell?" Arenar asked.

"These images—" Rimion pointed to the wall next to him "—depict dragon cultists bowing before such a priest. If this was made at any point after the death of Alduin no Nord would even think to worship them."

They continued down the long hallway, with the walls constantly changing who was being worshiped.

"Who was Alduin?" Katjaa asked.

"In Nordic lore he is the first-born of Akatosh; God of Destruction. He was supposedly the strongest of all the dragons, and as such was the highest ruler during the Merethic Era when the dragons ruled over men and mer. His Voice was law, and only fools would defy him."

"His Voice?" Arenar asked.

"You two don't read much, do you?" the High Elf joked. "Anyways, the Voice—or Thu'um, in the language of the dragons—was the ancient magic that all the dragons possessed. A dragon could speak a single word and set the world aflame. People say that a battle between dragons was just a deadly verbal debate."

"The dragon in Helgen did something like that. It roared into the air and the sky began to rain rocks and fire down upon us."

"The Voice was a power only available to the dragons at first. But when the mortals rebelled against their masters it is said the god Kynareth—as her Nordic aspect Kyne—gave mortals the ability to use the voice. That is supposedly how the Dragon Wars ended: the Voice was used against Alduin and killed him. After that the remaining dragons fled. Eventually they were hunted down to extinction."

"That would be useful now," Arenar mentioned. "If someone could have just killed the dragon in Helgen. My sword did next to nothing against it. For all I know I might have tickled the beast."

"Well those mortals—called Dragonborn by you and me—are now given this power by Akatosh by being born with the soul of a dragon. The last recorded Dragonborn I know of was Tiber Septim—unless you count the rest of his bloodline, then Martin Septim would have been the last one. If so that still doesn't change much since he died 200 years ago." Rimion's face became disturbed by this realization.

Katjaa noticed it. "What's wrong?"

"It is also said that only a Dragonborn can truly kill a dragon. Without one, the beast's soul lingers until they somehow return in a physical body," Rimion explained. "Perhaps the dragon at Helgen is one that found a way to return?"

They stopped talking when they got to the puzzle door. Unlike the gate from the puzzle early in the ruins this door was made of stone. In the middle of it was a circle with three rotatable rings with the same symbol as those on the golden claw. The rings were centered around an etching of a claw. Three holes that looked made for a key were at the talons of the claw.

"So could this be anymore obvious?" Arenar asked.

Rimion chuckled. "I'm sure you two would have figured it out without me... after a while."

Katjaa moved the rings to match the symbols in the same place as they were on the golden claw: bear, moth, then owl. She placed the claw into the hole.

"Now what?"

"Turn it," Rimion answered.

She did as he said. The outer and middle rings spun on their own until they matched the owl. Following that were several clicks before the door slowly lowered into the ground.

The group climbed up the stairs behind the door and entered into a large cavern. After a few minutes of walking they entered an even larger part of the cavern. Across a stone bridge was a platform that could be arrived by climbing a small staircase. A coffin resting in front of a giant wall—both sat on the platform. Next to the coffin was a chest. Behind the wall and in several other places were waterfalls emptying out into a small stream that the bridge was built over.

Katjaa thought the sight was breathtaking.

Rimion whistled, and it echoed throughout the open space. "I've seen those before. A Dragon Wall. Supposedly built by the ancient Nords while they were under the rule of the dragons. The writing on it is supposed to be in the dragon language, but it looks like someone carved random lines into it to me. Some historians have deciphered the language and even know how to speak it."

They crossed the bridge and neared the Dragon Wall. The wall was very tall; it was halfway to the ceiling of the cavern before it stopped. A large metal structure that looked like a dragon head took up the upper part of the Dragon Wall. A small set of stairs led up to the wall where there were seemingly random scratches in the stone, like Rimion said.

"I wonder where the Dragonstone is?" Arenar asked.

Katjaa didn't respond because she was still examining the wall.

"Maybe it's in the coffin?" Rimion wondered.

None of it could be made out.

"You want to open it?"

Until some of the lines began to glow blue.

"It looks sealed tight."

Everything but the glowing scratches darkened around her until the light was almost blinding.

"Check that chest. It could be there."

The light left the wall and began to envelop around her.

"Nope, not in here. There's about fifty Septims in here though. Look fairly new, too."

A voice not her own began to speak in Katjaa's mind. "_Fus._ Force._ Fus._ Force._ Fus. Fus._ Force. Force."

"What do you think, Katjaa?"

A light burning sensation began inside of her, though she couldn't pinpoint where. Not painful, but almost... releasing.

"Katjaa, are you alright?"

"_Fus. _Force. Force. _Fus._"

"KATJAA!"

Katjaa blinked, and the light was gone. The voice disappeared at the same time. Arenar stood in front of her with his hands on her shoulders. His facial expression looked like pure fear.

"What happened?" she asked in a weak voice.

"I tried talking to you but you were unresponsive. Then I looked at you and your face was pale and cold. You weren't breathing," he answered.

"What was wrong?" Rimion asked from somewhere behind her.

"I'm not sure..." Katjaa thought about telling them about the light and the voice, but she decided against it. _They won't believe me. _

"Can you walk?" Arenar asked.

"Yeah, I think so." She turned around and looked at Rimion, who was sitting on top of the coffin. "Did you guys find the Dragonstone?"

"Yes and no," Rimion answered vaguely. He patted the lid of the coffin. "Unless some time ago someone else came in here and took the Dragonstone, which is unlikely without the golden claw, it is in here. But the problem is that we can't get it open."

Katjaa walked a single step forward. "Maybe there's a le—"

The lid burst open and flew over the edge into the water below. Rimion flew with it, groaning soon after a splash was heard.

A draugr rose up from a laying-down position and stared at Katjaa and Arenar. This draugr looked much more imposing than any of the ones the group had previously encountered. For one, it was bulkier and taller than the other corpses. It's armor was in relatively good condition considering how long the Nord has been dead. In its right hand was an axe that glowed with a red tint, indicating a fire enchantment.

In the other hand was a large stone slab with a carving of a map and more of the dragon language.

Katjaa knew it was the Dragonstone immediately.

Katjaa instinctively charged at the draugr with her daggers out, hoping to stab its eyes before it could get out.

It just looked at her as she closed in. A couple of seconds before she would have reached the corpse it took a deep breath. She cocked her head in surprise that the thing was breathing since none of the others had done so.

"_FUS-RO-DAH!_"

A wave of energy pounded against Katjaa, taking her off her feet and sending her through the waterfall next to the Word Wall. Her head cracked against a rock wall, her helmet almost doing nothing to cushion the blow.

Just before slipping into unconsciousness she heard one word.

"KATJAA!"

* * *

**AUTHOR'S SECOND NOTE: Show of hands, who knew that Katjaa was the Dragonborn?**

**In my early addition of the story I planned for Arenar (who was still Ancano back then) to be the Dragonborn. But after the first chapter a reviewer convinced me to make the story more than just an "insert my character" tale.**

**Second version I came up with was that both Arenar and Katjaa were Dragonborn. I was going to use the Lost Prophecy to explain it because it uses the term "dragon-born." But then I looked into it further and all that means is that he was born under the Imperial sign. Though that does help explain why the Nerevarine is an Imperial instead of another race (as long as you don't think about it).**

**But anyway, review and I will give you a sneak peek of the first seventeen words of Chapter Fourteen! Doesn't that sound like it's worth it?**


	15. Chapter 15: Return to Whiterun

**AUTHOR'S FIRST NOTE: Despite my objections to change the lore of my story, I changed the average lifespan of an Altmer to around 1000 years. The explanation is available in the first Author's Note of Chapter Thirteen, but basically it makes it easier to compare the ages of Men and Mer if I make the average lifespan of Men to 100 years, which I did.**

**Accompanying this is a change of Rimion's age from 107 to 227. **

**This new change doesn't actually affect anything in this chapter, but this is the most current chapter after the change in lore, so I figured it would be best to put it here.**

* * *

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN: RETURN TO WHITERUN  
**

**Rimion**

Katjaa moved one step closer to Rimion. She began to speak, but Rimion didn't hear the words—his attention was already focused on the sudden growling that seemed to be coming from inside the coffin he sat on.

Before he knew it, he was laying on the ground below the platform he was on just a second earlier with the coffin lid crushing his left arm.

He groaned in pain. His arm didn't feel broken, but it didn't tickle either.

Back on the platform Rimion heard the sound of someone running closer to him, but more likely that person was running towards whatever was inside the coffin.

"_FUS-RO-DAH!_"

A Shout. The ancient power of the dragons.

He recognized this one in particular as draugr commonly used this Shout to knock their enemies across rooms with a powerful burst of energy.

Somewhere farther away from him—possibly behind the Dragon Wall, he guessed—Rimion heard something heavy splash into either the small stream that ran through the main chamber or one of the numerous waterfalls that covered the cavern walls.

"KATJAA!" Arenar screamed.

At least now Rimion was able to narrow down what had been inside the coffin, as only a draugr of mid-to-high level strength was able to Shout. Unfortunately it seemed the draugr had aimed the Shout at his Breton companion.

The only time Rimion was on the opposite end of a Shouting draugr he ended up with several bruised ribs.

Still dizzy from the eight foot drop straight on to his back, Rimion began to push the stone coffin lid with his other, non-injured arm. _Damn this thing is heavy._

Swords began clashing together somewhere on the platform. Arenar roared in anger—obviously enraged by the attack on Katjaa. Rimion suspected the Imperial would win the fight, though the long-dead Nord would put up a greater challenge than any of the other weaker corpses they fought earlier.

As the stone lid slowly began to budge (Rimion, like most High Elves, wasn't physically strong due to such a reliance on magic in battle) the Arch-Mage thought back to his conversation in Riverwood with Arenar about Lielle. Once or twice during their adventures over the years Arenar had mumbled that name in his sleep. Rimion never felt comfortable about bringing this up, but his curiosity always hoped that Arenar would explain.

And now that he was more informed about Lielle, Rimion's curiosity was almost exploding with a desire for more knowledge. _Who killed Lielle? How exactly did she die? Did Arenar see her die? Did he take his revenge and kill the elf that murdered Lielle?_

With one more push the lid moved from his arm to the space next to him. Rimion used his right hand to cast a strong Restoration spell over his aching arm. The pain died down for the most part but he saved his remaining magicka for any injuries that Katjaa or Arenar might have. Instead he drank a healing potion—which he normally avoided due to their horrible taste and weaker healing speed._  
_

The battle on the platform seemed to end as Rimion slowly pulled himself up on to his feet. He heard someone run down the stairs behind him. The Arch-Mage channeled a weak lightning spell in his hands in fear the draugr was coming for him now.

He swiveled around to happily see that it was Arenar running down the stairs. The Imperial looked a little tired and had a scrape that ran down his cheek but otherwise looked fine.

Arenar charged past Rimion without even acknowledging the man and disappeared around the corner. A minute or so passed before Arenar returned. He was soaking wet and holding an unconscious Katjaa in his arms.

"So did ya win?" Rimion joked when Arenar got closer to the elf.

The Imperial blinked when he saw Rimion. "Were you there before?"

"Yeah, but you seem to be a little more preoccupied with something else," Rimion said, pointing to Katjaa.

Arenar nodded. "Her head is bleeding. She must have hit it against the cavern wall when she was knocked off the platform."

"Let's put her down on the platform where it's flatter."

Arenar walked up the stairs with Rimion following behind him. When they got to the top of the stairs Rimion nearly gasped. He rubbed his eyes then looked again. "What in Oblivion did you to him?"

The draugr was once an imposing figure, at first glance. It looked about seven feet tall with a bulkier and more imposing figure than most of the draugr from before had. Its armor and fire-enchanted axe also looked like they were also in a better condition.

But now it was a mess. Its head and limbs were all severed from the body. The face was mangled and scarred with several deep gashes. The eyes were squished instead of stabbed—as if Arenar used his thumbs to ultimately kill the corpse rather than with his sword. One of the severed hands still clutched on to the Dragonstone.

If Rimion had been the squeamish type his non-existent lunch from earlier would now be splattered on the floor.

Arenar ignored the question and gently lowered Katjaa on to the ground a couple feet away from the mutilated body, using her pack as a head rest. He removed her leather helmet—which was bloodstained—and then his own and placed them both to the side.

From a crouched position Arenar turned to look at Rimion. "Can you help her?"

"Yeah..." Rimion answered after a short pause. He sat down on the ground opposite of Arenar and ran a healing spell across Katjaa's head while simultaneously performing another one with his other hand on Arenar's face.

After mending the flesh on the Imperial's face he used the other hand to help quicken the repairing of both the internal and external damage on Katjaa.

He kept this up until his magicka pool was empty a few minutes later. He looked at the wound on Katjaa's head to see what he missed. The bruising from the sudden impact was gone but a long line that had been much worse still had a small amount of blood seeping out of it.

The Atlmer pulled out a healing potion and poured the contents into her mouth.

"Hope she doesn't choke on this." He looked up at Arenar and saw a deadly frown had formed on his face. "I'm sure she won't though."

"Why isn't she awake?" Arenar asked.

"Just because I healed most of the damage doesn't mean that she would have just suddenly become conscious," Rimion explained. "She'll wake up when she is good and ready; that means we'll probably have to camp here for the night after all."

Arenar sighed. "I'll take first watch."

Rimion's stomach rumbled. "I don't suppose you have anything to eat, do you?"

"Nope."

"Do you think Katjaa might?"

"Whatever is inside that pack is probably covered in blood by now," Arenar pointed out.

"Damn," Rimion cursed. He pulled his hood over his head to keep it from lying completely down on the thousand-year-old platform and closed his eyes. "Wake me up when she does so we can head back to Riverwood for some breakfast. Or lunch, if she takes that long."

* * *

Rimion tried to remain asleep as he felt someone continuously nudge him with their foot, hoping to get another hour or four to sleep. But the insistent kicking grew too irritating to sleep through.

The elf opened his eyes and saw it was Katjaa that woke him up. She looked a little more pale than normal, but that was a common side-effect with losing blood. Her pack was slung over her shoulders and her helmet still lay on the floor—both of them covered in blood.

"Back in the land of the living, I see," Rimion joked as he rubbed his eyes.

She smiled. "Yeah, I was about to say the same to you. I started kicking you five minutes ago."

Rimion sat up and pulled down his hood—at the same time noticing his left arm was no longer sore. "I was hoping you'd give up and leave me here. All I wanted was some more sleep." His stomach rumbled again. "Maybe some food as well."

"Arenar told me about you wanting to loot my bag for food after I was knocked out," Katjaa informed him.

"Well see, there's a funny story behind that—"

Katjaa's hand rose, a polite order to pause. "Here is an even funnier one: I forgot to get some food from Riverwood—which is actually the second time I've done so, now that I think about it."

"I hope in the future you will not forget, else I might starve to death. I haven't eaten since yesterday morning when the guards offered me some of their rations. Or maybe today? What time is it anyway?"

She shrugged. "I dunno. Why didn't you bring a bag with you? That way if I forget food again you'll still have a full belly."

"Don't you remember what I told Arenar when we were chasing that Dark Elf? I cannot be held accountable for important things. Food's important. Ergo, don't expect me to be carrying food." Rimion reached into one of his pockets and withdrew several vials. "Besides, I'm the potion guy."

"Potions _are _important. After all that's how you healed me." The grin on her face disappeared as her expression grew more serious. "I wanted to thank you for that."

"No problem."

"If I didn't completely trust you before, I do now."

"Wait, what?" Rimion pushed himself off the ground in an awkward fashion since he was still very tired. "You still didn't trust me the whole time we were in here?"

"I mostly trusted you, like eighty percent. But now it's the full one-hundred."

_Oh well. I guess that's okay._ Rimion looked around the platform then to the rest of the cavern and asked, "where's Arenar?"

Katjaa pointed to a corner of the cavern. A set of stairs led into a tunnel through the cavern wall. "I woke up about fifteen minutes ago. Once Arenar made sure I was alright he decided to scout out for an exit over there."

On cue the Imperial emerged from the tunnel and began descending down the stairs. "That way is no good," he said.

Rimion waited until Arenar was standing next to him and Katjaa then he asked, "why not?"

"That tunnel leads to an exit out of Bleak Falls Barrow, but there are two problems with it. Number one: the exit leads to a small clearing on the moutainside that is completely remote. With no path back down to Riverwood we'll be lucky if the trip is only twice as long. Plus we're more likely to trip and fall back to the surface than safely trudge through the snow."

"What's the second problem?" Katjaa asked.

"If I guessed correctly, the lake below us is connected to the end of the White River. That much backtracking would probably add an extra eight or nine hours of unnecessary walking back to Whiterun to bring Farengar the Dragonstone."

Rimion nodded. "So what do you propose?"

"We backtrack through the ruins instead. Since all the traps are disarmed and both puzzle doors are solved—and with a little luck we don't face anymore draugr—we should be able to get back to the entrance in two and a half, maybe three hours. Plus the snowstorm we had to pass through is gone, so I'd say another three hours to get back to Riverwood instead of the four like before."

Rimion did the math in his head. "So roughly six hours."

Arenar nodded. "It's more or less two in the morning, so we should get to Riverwood at about eight."

"I say we eat at _The Sleeping Giant Inn _then return the golden claw to the Riverwood Trader before we head out for Whiterun," Katjaa suggested.

"Sounds good to me," Arenar yawned. "Though I won't be able to travel for long. I woke up yesterday at seven and haven't slept since."

"We could rest at the inn. Me and Katjaa woke up at about the same time, and we only got in what? Three hours of sleep? And she was only sleeping because she was knocked out."

"Farengar probably wants the Dragonstone as soon as possible," Katjaa pointed out.

The High Elf smiled. "Surely the court wizard wouldn't want us this tired when we deliver the stone. I'm sure he would agree with me that more sleep would be best."

Arenar scratched his ragged beard. "Well... in that case I would have to agree with both of you." He bent down and picked up his iron helmet, promptly placing it on his head soon after. He then half-crouched down and picked up the Dragonstone with seemingly no effort.

"That thing looked heavy," Rimion commented.

Arenar shrugged. "It's about as heavy as a feather. C'mon, I can already hear the bed calling my name."

Katjaa looked at her leather helmet. "Not sure I want to put that back on. I'm sure I already have enough blood in my hair."

Rimion snorted. "Maybe you can get a bath in Riverwood. Get that blood out and rid of that smell at the same time."

The Breton almost looked hurt. "I don't smell. I got a bath two days ago. When was the last time _you _bathed?"

Rimion switched over to Arenar. "Maybe that smell is coming from you?" he teased.

Arenar laughed. "Could be. The last time I bathed was in the Cyrodiilic city of Bruma. I didn't have a chance to, what with my broken leg and all from fighting a dragon."

"I thought the dragon dropped you from the sky?"

"Yeah, either or. _The Sleeping Giant Inn _didn't have any tubs that I'm aware of. So I guess we'll just all have to stink together until we get a chance clean up."

Katjaa sighed. "You guys are kinda gross." She started towards the Hall of Stories while Arenar and Rimion chuckled at her observation.

* * *

The Imperial's prediction proved to be true: the group arrived in the small village soon after eight o' clock. They decided to return the Riverwood Trader's supplies first. Lucan and Camilla were extremely grateful for the gesture. The shopkeeper rewarded them with 400 Septims, plus another 100 after Katjaa sold a couple of gems to him.

Orgnar gave them a stew similar to what Arenar had the day before. Rimion nearly gagged at first, though Arenar made the stew taste better with a bottle of Nord Mead—though the elf couldn't tell if it was the beverage's flavor or the slight buzz he received that caused this improvement.

Regardless, the elf's stomach felt better with food in it.

Unfortunately there were only two rooms available for rent. Katjaa had one to herself but Arenar and Rimion had to share the other. Rimion—feeling slightly guilty from sleeping earlier that morning in Bleak Falls Barrow—offered Arenar the bed while he slept on the floor.

After eight hours of sleeping they were all recuperated and ready to leave for Whiterun. Rimion made sure that Katjaa had plenty of food and water in her pack before they left.

"I wasn't going to forget again," Katjaa assured him.

"Uh-huh," Rimion responded.

The group left Riverwood at four. They didn't stop for anything, though Katjaa did suggest they bathe in the White River as they approached a waterfall.

"I dunno, us gross men may have a problem with looking at you too much when we're... you know. Nude," Rimion half-joked.

He expected her to give him an annoyed glare, but instead her only facial reaction was a raised eyebrow. "You're attracted to humans? I thought High Elves were very strict when it came to reproduction."

"You're an example that this is not always the case. All Bretons—if they trace back far enough—will discover an elven ancestor or two."

"That was thousands of years ago. Not exactly common for a new Breton lineage to be formed these days."

Rimion shrugged. "When you spend forty years in Cyrodiil after a sheltered life in the Summerset Isles you tend to grow new tastes. Some in food; me in women."

"Ever been with a woman, a human woman?" she asked.

"Little personal, don't you think?"

She giggled. "I'll take that as a no. No wonder I would catch you staring. Nothing is more delectable than something you've never had."

"Not only that—though you're not far off—but you are a very beautiful woman." He elbowed Arenar in the arm. "You agree with me, right?"

To the elf's surprise Arenar began to blush under his iron helmet. _Didn't know he _could _blush. _"Um... yeah. You are beautiful. Quite beautiful, I dare say."

Rimion looked back at the Breton—thrown off yet again when her face was as hot as Arenar's. _How far can I take this?_

_Let's find out. _

"I'm sure you find Arenar to be handsome in return," Rimion said confidently.

Katjaa's face turned into a scarlet color. "A blind woman could sense that," she said under her breath.

Rimion turned just in time to see Arenar trip over his feet. He continued to laugh periodically over the next several hours, doing so each time he caught one of them looking shyly at the other.

_The sexual tension between these two is CRAZY high. _

* * *

**AUTHOR'S SECOND NOTE: Shorter chapter this time. This is mostly just an in-between chapter leading up to the first dragon battle. Still trying to figure out how I will do it, since I find my writing skills when detailing a fight to be under par.**

**And the last thing I want to do is make the fight with Mirmulnir boring.**

**Next chapter introduces the next guild master. Here's a hint: Arooooooo!  
**

**Please review. Or favorite. Or follow. Or all three, if you feel adventurous enough.**


	16. Chapter 16: The Son of Hircine

**AUTHOR'S FIRST NOTE: I changed the structure of the quest "Ill Met By Moonlight" to better suit the character of Kole. The actual events of the quest will be revealed in a future chapter, though it is mentioned in this one.**

* * *

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN: THE SON OF HIRCINE**

**Kole**

The giant's club slammed down into the ground where the Redguard had stood, flinging dirt and bits of the earth into the air around both him and the giant.

But yet again Kole dodged the attack without much effort. His natural athleticism and training allowed him to anticipate when the fifteen-foot tall humanoid would strike.

He stabbed his steel short-sword into the giant's thigh—the ring on his hand glinting in the sunlight as he did so. It was easily recognizable as the Ring of Hircine due to the carving of a snarling wolf head on it.

A reward from his father, along with his new armor, the Savior's Hide. It was leather underneath, though wolf fur covered the cuirass. Circling the neckline were fangs sticking through the armor. A metal plating with intricate engravings of a wolf's face with red eyes covered the front of his body.

Kole's dog leaped on to the giant's calf and took a chunk out of it. The giant growled in anger and swiped at the dog, but missed by a considerable amount.

The grey-with-black-spots warhound with sharp teeth and strong legs, which Kole simply called "dog," was the first gift from his father. Unlike the other two gifts, this one had been given to him when he returned to Mundus six months earlier.

A lightning bolt originating from somewhere behind the Harbinger struck the middle of the giant's chest. It stumbled back a few feet, but otherwise looked unfazed.

Kole gave a confused look to Dog—now standing next to him with a similar expression. "Where did that come from?"

Dog turned his head to look behind them then barked—possibly at whomever casted the Destruction spell. Kole didn't do the same in case the giant decided to take advantage of the distraction.

He rolled under the giant's legs and slashed at its left ankle. The giant slowly rotated to face the Redguard—seemingly unharmed by the attack.

Kole cursed at his slow progress. If he were fighting the giant in his beast form he could have knocked it down and ripped out its throat, but he was too close to the city to risk being seen shifting. Both he and Aela—his girlfriend and closest non-Daedra companion—the only werewolves left in the Companions since Kodlak's passing, thought it was best to keep their other side hidden from anyone outside the Circle.

Luckily Kole had plenty of experience fighting in his human form, having only received the beast blood from Aela three months earlier. His father had never given a proper explanation as to why he withheld the power from Kole, but he suspected Hircine's strength was too potent to pass on to him directly.

The first time he had experienced the other side was intoxicating. It was almost a blur of excitement and fear all at once. He could barely recall his first time, but the dozen injured guards in Whiterun when he returned to the city gave him an idea of what happened.

Aela expressed her jealousy of seeing him experience his first time, as it was supposedly the best. Kole could neither agree nor disagree due to most of it being forgotten when he woke up in the woods in Eastmarch outside of a Silver Hand base.

The giant swung for Kole's head but the Redguard ducked and retaliated by cutting off the giant's largest toe on its right foot.

Another lightning bolt exploded against the giant's back, causing it to jerk forward and nearly fall over.

Now facing the direction that both spells had came from he had a clear sight of who was helping him fight the giant. There were three figures; two running towards the giant and another—the mage—stood farther away preparing another spell in his hands.

The person closest to Kole was the most distinguishable. She was a female Breton in leather armor, dual-wielding a pair of steel daggers. Her long, dark black hair was bouncing on her shoulders as she ran to his aid. Her eyes were a vibrant green and her skin was a dark shade for her race, though not as dark as Kole's.

A little ways behind her was a man in what looked like the least protective iron armor Kole had ever seen. His height suggested he was either a tall Imperial, a tall Breton, or a short Nord. A helmet with horns sat on his head, keeping his face mostly hidden from the world except for a scraggly brown beard.

Then Kole looked at the mage and sighed for this person he recognized, despite him being the farthest away. The fancy dark blue robes with fur lining the mage wore belonged to the Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold, Rimion Volanare. Ever since Kole was named Harbinger the two of them had met multiple times as the High Elf was a good friend to the Jarl. Almost every time Rimion would speak it would be a joke, which usually was directed at an annoyed Kole.

A third lightning bolt shot from Rimion's fingers and struck the giant in its left leg. The giant grunted as its left knee dropped down into the ground.

_Well at least his magic is strong. _

Kole leaped on to the giant's back, using his short-sword and the giant's back hair to ascend towards its head.

Meanwhile the Breton was quickly stabbing into the giant's chest. Not strong enough to do any actually damage, but fast enough to keep the giant—who was still wildly swing his club around—from being able to shake Kole off.

Kole's dog was ripping at the giant's feet to keep it immobile.

The warrior with a steel longsword—now close enough for Kole to notice that most of his iron curiass almost looked melted—arrived at the giant just as Kole made his way to the head. He cried out as he slashed at the giant's face—cutting completely through its nose.

Kole pushed himself up on to the giant's shoulders as it clutched its bleeding face. Without a second to pause he plunged his short-sword through its skull and into its brain.

The Redguard leaped off while the giant collapsed on to the ground. The dog jogged over to his side instantly. He wiped his sword on the corpse and sheathed his blade before turning to the others.

_I guess I have to say something._ "Thank you for your help," he said.

The Breton cleaned her daggers and put them away as well. "No problem," she said in a Cyrodiilic accent.

The human warrior took off his helmet and wiped a bit of blood off of his cheek. He was an Imperial a bit taller than Kole with eyes the color of the sky and a skin tone much lighter than the Breton's but not as pale as the average Nord. His short, ruffled hair and beard shared a dark chocolate color. A horizontal scar ran across the top of his nose. He appeared to have a more muscular build than Kole, but the Redguard was sure he could take him on in a fight.

"If you don't mind me asking," the Imperial said in a similar accent, "why were you fighting a giant alone?"

"It was stealing a goat from the Pelagia Farm. There have been three thefts earlier this month, and likely this giant was behind those too," Kole said.

"Still, would've been more difficult without us," the Imperial commented.

"I'd have been fine," Kole assured him.

From behind the Imperial and Breton, the Arch-Mage approached. Kole pretended not to acknowledge the elf, but was pleased with himself for identifying Rimion correctly. He had a generic appearance for an Altmer: amber eyes, pale yellow skin, blond hair, and a scrawny frame. The only uncommon thing about him was the small amount of stubble on his chin because High Elves were renowned for keeping themselves well groomed.

He flashed Kole a goofy smile as their eyes met. "We don't see each other often enough, do we?"

"We do," Kole muttered.

Rimion pretended to look hurt. "Still immune to my jokes, I see. I'll make you smile someday."

"Don't hold your breath."

"So it was great helping you, but we have to head into the city," the Imperial said.

Kole nodded. "Good—"

"Well he can come with us!" Rimion suggested with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"I don't want to impose," Kole said, annoyed by the elf for what felt like the millionth time.

"C'mon Kole, I insist!"

_He's not going to give up, is he? _Kole sighed. "Fine. Let's go."

He turned around and started for the road to the city gates. Behind him the Breton spoke. "I'm Katjaa, and he's Arenar."

"Okay," Kole answered without care—barely paying attention to what she had said.

He'd hoped his tone would imply that he wanted to be left alone but either the Breton didn't care or didn't notice. "Are you the same Kole that leads the Companions?"

"A Harbinger leads no one; ever since the days of Ysgramor. Every man and woman leads only his or herself in Jorrvaskr. The Harbinger is only an adviser," Kole said firmly. "But yes, I am that Kole."

"I spoke with a red-haired Nord at Jorrvaskr."

Kole stopped and turned to face the Breton—actually listening to her for the first time since she began talking to him. "Oh really? Aela didn't seem mad, did she?"

The Breton shook her head. "Not mad. I'd say upset or worried about something."

Kole's brow raised in confusion. He had originally asked Aela to join him on the contract in Falkreath but ended up leaving for it alone without warning. He had fully expected an angry and/or violent response from her for doing that.

Her untamed wild side, after all, was one of the reasons he fell in love with her.

_But she was sad about me leaving instead. How confusing. _

Kole—instead of replying—simply started back towards Whiterun, hoping that the Breton's curiosity was finally satisfied.

"Not to be rude, but you look very young to be an adviser," she continued. "How old are you?"

_When will the Breton relent? _

The truth was, Kole didn't actually know how old he was.

According to Hircine, Kole had been adopted by the Daedric Prince Hircine a few weeks before the end of the Third Era, when he was just five-years-old. Kole assumed this to be the truth as he couldn't actually remember them meeting. That would make him two hundred and five years old. But, he knew it didn't look it. The aging process was slower in the Hunting Grounds than it was in Mundus. For every ten years he had been there, his body had only aged by one. So...

"Twenty-five," Kole guessed confidently.

"How long—"

"I don't want to come across as rude, but can you please quit with the questions?" Kole asked. "I've had very little sleep in the past week and I haven't eaten anything in a day and a half. I just want to inform the Jarl about the thieving giant's death, collect some sort of bounty, and then rest."

Luckily the Breton obliged. Unfortunately Rimion saw this as a way to annoy Kole even more. "So what were you doing outside of Whiterun?"

Kole ignored the question until the elf repeated the question several times. "Did you not hear me explain that I wanted no more questions?"

"Just answer that one last question and I'll leave you alone," Rimion said.

_I doubt that. _"The Jarl of Falkreath sent out a contract to hunt down a werewolf that was terrorizing the city."

"So how did that go?"

Kole shot a glance over his shoulder at the Arch-Mage. "I thought you only had that one last question? What do you call the one immediately after that?"

Rimion shrugged. "That was part two of the first question."

Kole sighed and faced the city walls again. "It went fine, although it took a little while longer than I expected. Four days of chasing it in the forest outside of Falkreath before I cornered it and killed it."

"You caught and killed a werewolf all by yourself? Not bad."

The Redguard was almost stunned by the compliment from Rimion as he only ever heard the elf make jokes before. For a third time he turned around then said, "thanks."

Before returning his attention back to Whiterun Kole spotted something in the Imperial's left hand that he hadn't noticed before. It was a stone slab engraved with what appeared to be a crude map of Skyrim. In multiple locations there seemed to be markings similar to an "X."

"What's that?" Kole curiously asked.

"It's called a Dragonstone," the Imperial explained. "Rimion and Katjaa were assigned by the court wizard and the Jarl to retrieve this from Bleak Falls Barrow. I joined them in Riverwood."

"Why?"

"Oh, so you can ask as many questions as you want?" Rimion asked in a teasing voice.

"Yes," Kole answered. "So why did you retrieve it?"

"Well, Katjaa and I were two of the very few survivors of the dragon attack at Helgen. This is supposed to help with uncovering the reason for dragons returning to Tamriel. Or maybe it's supposed to help kill them; the court wizard was apparently vague about the details." the Imperial answered.

_So the rumors of dragons are real? _Kole remembered the loud roaring that had echoed throughout the forest several days earlier. He had no idea what could have caused the noise as he knew the roars of a werewolf were far wilder.

Later—when he returned to the Jarl of Falkreath to tell him that the werewolf was dead—a couple of injured and frightened people entered the city, screaming and crying out about a dragon as black as sin with unfathomable power.

Kole hadn't believed them about the dragon, but part of him thought that it was plausible. In his two hundred years in the Hunting Grounds he had hunted down animals of every type but could not match the roaring in the forest to any of them. _Dragons must have been extinct else Father would definitely of had some in the Hunting Grounds. _Kole's curiosity—which he considered rather weak—made him wish for an explanation.

"I figure you are going to deliver that to Dragonsreach as soon as we get into the city, am I correct?" Kole asked. The Imperial nodded. "If you do not mind, I'd like to go with you. I have to admit, this dragon business is... interesting."

"I dunno," Rimion said. "You didn't seem too happy to join us on this graceful stroll back to the city. Perhaps we'll want to keep you from joining us."

Kole flashed a vicious smile in the elf's direction. "Perhaps I'll show you your insides."

Rimion returned the grin—which made Kole realize this was the first time he had joked with the mage—before responding. "Or perhaps we can all go together. Maybe we can have brunch afterwards. You want to get some sweetrolls?"

Kole weakly chuckled at the joke—another first between him and Rimion. _I've been in Tamriel for too long. _

* * *

The group entered Dragonsreach a little less than an hour after Kole had joined them. The Breton—Kole had to remind himself that her name was Katjaa—mentioned that they might have had issues entering the city due to the dragon attack.

Kole was recognized as the Harbinger and was allowed through the city gates with no problem. Rimion had a similar experience, being both the Arch-Mage and a good friend to the Jarl.

Katjaa and the Imperial—_Arenar, his name's Arenar_—had a little more trouble.

"We were sent by the Jarl to retrieve this!" Arenar practically yelled into the face of one of the two guards posted at the gates while pointing at the Dragonstone.

"If that is true, we will get it confirmed by the Jarl. When that happens, we will allow you through," the guard said in a neutral tone.

"How long will that take?" Rimion asked from inside the city.

"Could take two hours, if we're generous," the guard answered. "But if you keep yelling at me, maybe it will be three. Or ten."

Katjaa sighed in frustration. "Can't you get one of the guards that let me into the city three days ago?"

The guard laughed. "Sure I can. Tell me one of their names."

She opened her mouth to speak but no words came out. "Well none of them told me their names."

Again the guard laughed. "That's fine. Tell me what they look like instead."

"Um..." Katjaa scratched her head. "I don't know what they look like either. None of the guards were distinguishable since they wore their helmets. Now that I think about it, all of you look the same."

Arenar pressed the Dragonstone into Katjaa's arms and began undoing the straps of the iron plates on both of his hands.

Kole looked to the elf standing next to him. "What's he gonna do, fight the guard? Wouldn't punching with a metal plated fist hurt more?"

Rimion simply smiled. "Not everything needs to be handled with violence." He urged Kole to look back at the situation. "See for yourself."

Kole did as the elf directed to find Arenar handing Katjaa the iron plates and his leather gloves that made up his pathetic excuse for gauntlets. She obviously had no idea what he was doing based on her confused expression.

Using his thumb and index finger on his left hand, the Imperial started to rotate a peculiar looking ring on his right hand. It looked to be made of silver with a large yellow star sitting on top of a crescent moon.

While continuously spinning the ring, Arenar spoke to the guard in a soothing voice. "The Jarl informed you that we would be arriving today and that you were to give us free passage into Whiterun."

Kole snorted. "Like that's gonna work. He should have—"

Both guards stepped aside—having previously been standing in the gateway, barring the path into the city—and ushered the two of them inside.

"I'm sorry for that," the guard apologized in an almost tired tone. "I had forgotten about your arrival."

"That's fine," Arenar said as he collected his items from Katjaa. He walked into the city with the shocked Breton following closely behind.

They walked in silence as Arenar re-equipped the gauntlets. Once he was finished with them Katjaa asked, "what did you do back there?"

Arenar shrugged. "I convinced them to let us in."

"Horseshit," Kole retorted. "That was nothing less than magic right there. Your ring must be enchanted with a powerful Illusion spell."

Rimion nodded. "The strongest one I've ever seen."

They entered the market and headed for the stairs that led into the Cloud District as the conversation continued with Arenar saying, "it doesn't work all the time. The smarter the person I am trying to convince the less likely I'll be successful."

"Where did you get it?" Katjaa asked.

"I, um, bought it a few years ago from a mage," Arenar answered. "Cost quite a bit, but it's been worth it."

Kole immediately saw through his words and knew they were lies. He observed the elf and noticed that Rimion also did the same—but his expression also made it seem that he knew the real answer.

"Okay," Katjaa said in an unconvinced tone.

They traveled the rest of the way to Dragonsreach without speaking. Kole looked at Jorrvaskr nearly the entire time it was in sight. Half of him hoped that Aela would have been outside so he could speak to her. The other half, however, was not thrilled to find out why she was upset.

Unsure as to why he decided this action, he directed Dog to return to Jorrvaskr. He seemed reluctant to leave Kole's side but eventually listened and started for the mead hall.

Dragonsreach was packed with more people than normal. A long line of people had formed in front of Jarl Balgruuf; the person at the head of the line was conversing with the Jarl. Kole guessed these people all had complaints about things related to the dragon attack.

"Maybe we should just go to Farengar until the Jarl has a moment?" Katjaa suggested.

No one objected so they followed her into the court wizard's office. As they neared the office, Kole heard Farengar speaking to someone.

"...is clearly First Era or even earlier. I'm convinced this is a copy of a much older text. Perhaps dating to just after the Dragon War. If so, I could use this to cross-reference the names with other later texts."

"Good," said a female's voice. "I'm glad you're making progress. My employers are anxious to have some tangible answers."

"Oh, have no fear," Farengar reassured the woman. "The Jarl recognized the threat of a dragon attack immediately. He had be devoting most of my time to this research before the rumors were confirmed. "

"Time is running, Farengar, don't forget."

As the woman continued talking, Katjaa stopped right outside of the office and turned to face the others. "Where do I know that voice from?"

Arenar shrugged. "I don't know, but I am sure I've heard it too."

"...the chance to see a living dragon up close would be tremendously valuable. Now, let me show you something else I found...very intriguing. I think your employers may be interested as well."

Katjaa's face grew an expression that appeared dumbfounded. "I know who that is."

Katjaa continued into the office as soon as the court wizard stopped talking—Kole and the others following directly behind her. Once inside the office, Kole had a clear sight of the woman Farengar had talked to. Judging by her height the woman was a Breton. She had a hood covering most of her face and wore a set of leather armor.

"Delphine?" Katjaa asked.

The woman looked up from a book she was reading and revealed her face. She had gray eyes, though they were a lighter shade than Kole's. Her skin was pale which made her blond hair seem even brighter. Kole estimated her age to be fifty-five, maybe a little less.

"You have a visitor," the Breton said to Farengar.

Farengar—who was standing to the Breton's left—looked up from the book as well. "Hmm? Ah, yes, the Jarl's protege! Back from Bleak Falls Barrow? You didn't die, it seems."

"Glad to see you were concerned," Rimion joked.

Farengar walked up to Katjaa and snatched the stone slab from her hands. "Ah! The Dragonstone of Bleak Falls Barrow! Seems you are a cut above the usual brutes the Jarl sends my way."

He waved his hand in the direction of the Breton, who was reading from the book once again. "My... associate here will be pleased to see your handiwork. She discovered its location, by means she has so far declined to share with me."

"She's the reason we went after the Dragonstone?" Katjaa asked.

Farengar nodded then walked back over to the Breton. "So your information was correct after all. And we have our friend her to thank for recovering it for us."

The Breton glanced at the rest of the group before her eyes remained on Katjaa. "You went into Bleak Falls Barrow and got that?"

"Um... yeah," Katjaa said quietly.

"Nice work," the Breton said with praise. "I hope that you didn't have any trouble in there. If I had known that your experience with the dragon would have caused you to be assigned to this job—"

"There wasn't much trouble," Arenar cut in. "But... why did you have information about dragons? I thought you were just an innkeeper?"

"I'm more than that," the Breton answered. She turned her head back to Farengar. "Just send me a copy when you've deciphered it. I'm going to head back to my employers and see if I can scrounge up more information."

Without waiting for a response from the court wizard, the Breton closed the book she had been reading and began walking towards the entrance to the office. When she passed Arenar, the Imperial suddenly grabbed her arm and stopped her from continuing.

"Unhand me at once!" the Breton shouted.

Arenar stared at her sword while asking, "that's an Akaviri katana, isn't it?"

"I don't know what—"

"You're a Blade."

The Breton's face—which had been angry—now looked fearful. "I don't know what you are talking about."

Arenar released his grip on her arm. "I thought the rest of the Blades were wiped out after the Great War."

"And how do you know so much about the Blades?" the Breton asked.

"I am an Operative of the Morrowind Chapter."

"Ha, good one. The Morrowind Chapter was destroyed almost two hundred years ago—along with most of Morrowind itself."

"I am not lying to you."

"You can only be lying. The only way you could have been a part of the Morrowind Chapter is if you're immortal."

Arenar opened his mouth—likely to continue the argument—but the Breton hastily walked towards Dragonreach's exit immediately after she stopped talking.

A minute later she was gone.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S SECOND NOTE: Been a while since a new chapter has been put out. My main excuse is that my computer wasn't able to access the Internet for about a week, but I was also a little lazy as well.**

**I want to give a special thanks to harmoniedusoir for reviewing earlier chapters and pointing out mistakes (most of which have been fixed) with both my spelling and grammar. She has also agreed to being my beta, which I am very grateful for.**

**A few changes had been made to the story during the time when I had only my tablet to use the internet. First of all, I changed the "Prologue" into "Chapter One: Prologue" to make my job a little easier. Second, part of Arenar's back story changed so that he has known about the Great War.**

**Another new character will be introduced next chapter. Well, she's not really new. But she is sworn to carry your burdens.**

**I go back to school soon and might not be able to post chapters as soon as I want. But I will post them as soon as possible.**

**Leave me some reviews please. If you do, I'll... well... be happy. **


	17. Chapter 17: The Western Watchtower

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: THE WESTERN WATCHTOWER**

**Lydia**

As Lydia strolled towards the Western Watchtower for her early morning shift she recalled the argument she'd had with her father. He had kept her inside the city ever since he had talked to a Breton named Katjaa Amarie, who had survived the dragon attack at Helgen. Apparently this talk had made him even more paranoid about one of the winged beasts attacking Whiterun.

"I cannot stay here any longer," Lydia said when her father offered to exclude her from her guard duties for the fifth time. "I would rather fight a dragon than sit around here doing nothing."

Her father made a dissatisfied grunt. "I don't want you getting hurt."

_No kidding. _The rumors of dragons began on her twenty-second name day, and ever since she had not been permitted to leave her home. A day off to celebrate her name day had been her father's first excuse to keep her from leaving Dragonsreach, but after that he hadn't given any reason for her not working.

"I could get hurt at anytime. The return of the dragons does not change this," she pointed out.

"A dragon could rip you in half without blinking. I'm sure that would hurt a lot more than some random bandit stabbing his sword into you."

Lydia sighed heavily. "I'm not going to argue with you about this. I complied with your wishes for four days. I stayed in Dragonsreach, I studied books about dragons, and I trained with Irileth. But I will not do it any longer. Today I was assigned to the Western Watchtower, and I will be there."

She slid her steel longsword into her sheath and grabbed her shield, the yellow wood one with the painted horse head**—**standard issue for all guards. As she equipped her Imperial bow, her father put his hand on her shoulder. "How about we negotiate? I can talk to Commander Caius and get you a position inside the city."

"No," Lydia said, shaking her father's hand off of her shoulder. "I will not back out of my duties just because you have the power to allow it. You might be the Jarl, but I will not bend to your will."

She finished strapping her quiver to her back and started towards Dragonsreach's doors without saying another word to her father, Jarl Balgruuf the Greater. He didn't try to stop her again.

* * *

Lydia arrived at the Western Watchtower a little less than an hour after the argument. The crumbling stone building was in horrible condition compared to the other towers located outside of Whiterun. A lot of the stonework had fallen off of the tower into the ground around it. Even the banners baring the Imperial Dragon were worn out and torn. Luckily the structure had proved reliable enough to still stand, though no one could guess how much longer it would do so.

There were three guards outside the tower when she got there. _They weren't delayed by a fight with a stubborn, old Nord._ Two Nords were shooting at an archery target to the left of the tower. The third was scanning the area from atop a broken ramp that had once been connected to the side of the tower.

As she entered the first floor of the tower, Lydia found herself directly opposite two bedrolls and a small table where another Nord was reading a report. He nodded to her as she began climbing the stairs. "Nice to see you at work for once. Scared of the dragons, were you?"

Lydia halted her progress and turned to the man who insulted her. She had to work harder than the others to prove herself a reliable guard due to Caius hiring her because of being the Jarl's daughter, a fact she had always been annoyed about since she became a guard to step out of her father's shadow. She had never taken it lightly when someone would accuse her of being weak.

"Did you say something to me?" she asked in a threatening voice.

"Nothing I'd want you repeating back to your father," the Nord said without looking at her.

She cursed at him before continuing up the stairs. Lydia's preference of not wearing a helmet was in part so that if she ever performed well she would be easily recognizable. Now, she wished she had worn one so that the Nord wouldn't have backed down.

Once she was on the second floor she saw Marko sitting on the ledge of a broken portion of the tower's wall. He was a tall Nord of the same age as Lydia with fiery red hair and a long beard to match. He was also one of the few guards that looked at her not as Lydia, the Jarl's oldest daughter; instead he saw her as Lydia, the highest-ranking woman guard and the hardest working of them all. Part of her hated this as well, since her promotions were—unsurprisingly—a result of her father's status.

He happened to glance over at her when she reached the top of the steps. Immediately a smile appeared on his face. "I haven't seen you in a while. Glad that's changed."

Lydia returned the smile. "Glad to be back. My damned father was so worried about the dragon attack that he wouldn't allow me to leave the city."

Marko scooted away from the ledge before standing up—his dark brown eyes staring into her own the entire time. "I'm sure he only wanted to ensure your safety. Can't say he is a bad father for doing that."

"You can't or else you'll be thrown into the dungeon," Lydia said.

Marko chuckled. "True." He grabbed his bow and headed for the stairs. "C'mon. Let's head up to the top."

Lydia took her bow in hand then followed him up the next flight of stairs. Two guards—wearing helmets like every other Nord at the Western Watchtower—were facing in the direction of Dragonsreach, so Marko and Lydia faced the other way. Most of the view was taken up by the large mountain that housed Bleak Falls Barrow on the other side.

"I wonder if there will be anything exciting today?" Marko asked.

From behind the two of them one of the Nords spoke. "A few people killed a giant about half an hour ago."

Marko turned to face the other guards. "Did any of you try to help them?"

The one that spoke before answered. "They were doing fine on their own. Neither of us saw a reason to help."

"Both of you were too lazy, I'm sure you mean," Marko replied as he returned his attention to Lydia. "Do you think we'll get to see anything exciting?"

Lydia shrugged. "I'd say it's a fifty/fifty chance. Even bandits will be weary about dragons, so some might decide to break the law another day."

"Some?"

"I didn't say the bandits are smart. Not all of them will believe the rumors; others might believe the rumors but not care."

"That would make the day more interesting: a dragon."

"No kidding, though I'd hate to have to go back to my father and hear him say 'I told you so,'" Lydia muttered.

Marko opened his mouth to speak but a loud roaring prevented his words from being heard. Lydia looked around to find something that could have created the horrid noise but ended up with no results. "What the f—"

Another roaring occurred, thought this time it was much closer.

The two guards that had been facing the other way now stood right behind them with their bows out and nocked with iron arrows. Lydia threw her shield down and did the same.

"Could that be a dragon?" one of them asked.

Lydia pretended to ignore the question, but in her heart she knew it couldn't have been anything but. She focused on the mountain as the roaring seemed to be coming from it.

A few tense minutes passed with nothing happening. Then...

"AT THE TOP OF THE MOUNTAIN!"

Lydia moved her eyes to the place Marko was pointing to. A large shadow was flying over the mountain ridge and was hurtling towards the tower at a blinding speed. In mere seconds what had been just a shadow was now a full sized monster that could only have been made in a nightmare. It was the size of a large house with wings that spread far and wide. It moved far too fast for her to make out any single thing.

Instinctively she shot her arrow at the target. Lydia considered herself a good archer but as she released the arrow she knew there was no way it would have ever hit the dragon unless the beast purposely flew into it.

Marko and the two guards fired their arrows as well with an equal effect.

The dragon began circling the tower—moving so fast that Lydia was unable to follow its path. She could only see it if she remained still and waited for it to fly in front of her eyes, but even then the beast appeared to be just a gray blur. She guessed it had to move very fast to keep itself in the air as it looked extremely heavy.

She kept shooting at the dragon as she had no idea what else to do. All the other guards seemed to do the same. Lydia noticed arrows appearing from somewhere below the tower and guessed the projectiles belonged to the guards that had been patrolling outside of the tower. The extra help did nothing to the dragon as it was still flying way to fast for anyone to hit it.

Lydia reached over her shoulder to grab another arrow from her quiver but found it was empty. _Like that matters. _She threw her bow to the ground and picked up her shield—unsheathing her sword at the same time. The familiar weight of her sword and shield in hand gaver her comfort, even though she knew they would be useless.

The dragon continued to circle the tower in the exact path it had traced seemingly thousands of times without ever actually performing a hostile action. Lydia only hoped that the beast would eventually fly off without ever attacking anyone.

What had been a torrent of unending arrows began to slowly dwindle down as more of the guards started running out of ammunition. Marko was the second one to use all of his arrows, followed by the two guards that shared the top of the tower with Lydia. The arrows from the guards on the ground continued for a little while longer but eventually ceased.

As the last arrow missed the dragon by a large margin, the beast slowed down until it hovered in the air. It aimed its head down at the tower with what appeared to be an expression of victory.

Now that it wasn't zooming around her she could see its face and body were covered in scales. Its face was a dull bronze color that slowly began to shift into a paler gray at its neck and onto its beating wings. It was so close, she could practically see every vicious fang as it opened its mouth wide.

"_YOL_..." it shouted in a booming voice. If it had been any louder Lydia would have had to plug her ears to keep from going deaf.

"..._TOOR_..." it continued. She stared into its mouth as what appeared to be a small fire grew in size just in front of its teeth.

Suddenly, Lydia felt a strong force hit her ribs and push her down the flight of stairs at her feet. She tried to get a glimpse of what the presence was while she tumbled down the stone sairs but could only see the yellow cloth of an unknown guard's armor. The front of her head smacked one of the stairs but her adrenaline prevented her from reacting to the pain.

"..._SHUL_!" was the last word the dragon shouted in a language Lydia could not decipher. A loud screeching followed by the sound of men crying out in pain started as she and the guard that tackled her finally reached the floor.

Lydia rubbed her eyes in an attempt to stop her dizziness when she felt a bleeding cut on her forehead. She ripped off part of the cloth on her own guard armor and wiped away some of the blood.

She looked over to find that Marko had been the guard who had tackled her. "Thanks," she said.

Marko—who, unlike Lydia, appeared undamaged—rolled onto his feet in an instant. "Oh shit. There's no way that they're still alive; that dragon spewed a wave of fire over them." His eyes moved from her own to her forehead. "Oh gods, you're bleeding."

"I'll be fine," Lydia assured him. She felt sore as she rose to her feet but pushed through it. "We have to tell my father about this. Let's go!"

Lydia only got one step forward before Marko stopped her from moving any further. "You go. I'll stay here."

"What?!" Lydia shouted. "You think you can take on that dragon all by yourself?!"

"If it sees you running for the city it might go after and kill you. Or worse, it might follow you to Whiterun and attack it," Marko said. "If I keep its attention on me instead then you can get to the Jarl safely."

"You'll die if you do that!"

Marko smiled gently at Lydia, despite the horrible situation they were in. That sight made her feel slightly more confident in him. "Don't sound so grim. Maybe I'll survive long enough for reinforcements to come." His smiled faded as he continued. "Now go."

Lydia stumbled down the stairs towards the exit from the Western Watchtower while Marko abruptly turned and charged back up the stairs.

The guard that had insulted Lydia was no longer sitting at the table, though Lydia hardly noticed. She poked her head outside to see four guards scavenging a chest near the archery target for more ammunition.

As the rest of her body passed through the doorway the largest fireball she had ever seen exploded right on top of the guards. The force of the impact blew Lydia off of her feet and on to the ground several feet below her.

Lydia got to her feet and began running towards Whiterun. She glanced back at the tower every couple of minutes—each time she saw the dragon either hovering near or flying around the top of it. She hoped that Marko would survive long enough for her to bring help.

* * *

The Jarl's daughter barged through the double doors of Dragonsreach half an hour after the dragon had attacked the Western Watchtower—covered in sweat from running the whole time. As she continued towards her father's throne she accidentally bumped into an older Breton woman in leather armor. The Breton accepted Lydia's hasty apology just as she left the building.

Lydia charged up the stairs and shoved her way through the line of people that had came there to have an audience with her father. Several of them cursed at her but she ignored every word.

Her father was holding up his head with his hand—as if bored with the rambling Imperial that was speaking to him. Once his eyes trained on Lydia he leaped out of his chair and ran to her side.

"What happened to you?" he asked as he examined her wounded forehead.

Lydia had to take a few deep breaths before she could answer. "Dragon... Western Watchtower... it attacked us."

Her father's eyes doubled in size. "Come with me. We don't want to scare anyone with this." He looked at Irileth as he led Lydia to the stairs. "Go get Farengar; he's our only source for dragons, and he can heal Lydia."

The Dark Elf nodded and walked towards the court wizard's office.

Once they were up the stairs, her father directed Lydia to sit down in one of the seats surrounding the war room table. He grabbed a handkerchief from his pocket and used it to wipe blood dripping from her wound. "I knew I should have forced you to stay here," he said under his breath.

"Father—"

"No. This is not a debate. You could have been killed by the dragon."

"The dragon didn't even do this!"

"If it had your head would be gone!" Father sighed before he continued addressing her wound. "Your mother would have disagreed with me, of course. Of all the Nordic women I've ever met, she was the greatest. Her fighting skills surpassed my own by a great deal, and she would never take no for an answer." He looked into Lydia's eyes and sighed again. "You remind me of Haema so much, in both the way you look and the way you act."

Lydia sat there silently as she processed her father's words. Her mother had died from giving birth to her younger twin siblings, Frothar and Dagny. Her father had been so distraught that for nearly a year he acted in a dishonorable way. Lydia—having been sixteen at the time—had to take care of the twins with help from Proventus while her father did things like drink nonstop and have sex with loose women on a regular basis.

He didn't change his ways until Nelkir—Lydia's half brother—was born from a maid that also died during childbirth.

Lydia resembled her mother much more than she did her father. She had the same dark brown hair that ran down to her neck, only Lydia wore part of her hair in a single braid, hanging down the left side of her face. Her dark blue eyes would sometimes appear gray in a certain lighting, but they would always be alert and focused. She was slightly shorter than most Nordic women, but she made up for it by being far stronger than most Nordic men.

The sound of footsteps grew louder behind her father. A moment later a group of people entered room—led by Irileth. Directly behind her was the Nordic court wizard Farengar, holding some sort of stone slab.

Behind him was a female Breton—who looked to be around Lydia's age, unlike the Breton she met near the doors—with hair the color of night and bright green eyes that shone against her tanned skin and leather armor.

Striding close to her was an Imperial with unruly mud-colored hair and a ragged beard. He too looked young, but when she looked into his sky-blue eyes they had a sadness that seemed hundreds of years old. He wore the least protective iron armor Lydia had ever seen, with a big gaping hole in the middle of it that looked to have been melted

A few steps behind the Imperial was Rimion Volanare, the High Elf who ran the College of Winterhold and was one of her father's closest friends. She too had a fondness for him, as he had been the one who cured Nelkir from the Daedric Prince that had been plaguing him.

Far behind anyone else was Kole, the Redguard Harbinger of the Companions. Lydia took in his dark curls, his dark skin**—**which matched the color of the tea her mother used to make**—**and the jagged scar that traced his left cheek. But his dark gray eyes were his most distinctive feature: they seemed to demand respect from everything they looked at, despite him appearing not too much older than Lydia. He walked towards them with an easy authority in a set of odd leather armor with engraved metal plating and a sheathed short-sword dangling from his waist.

Rimion began walking towards her with a Restoration spell in hand. He touched her forehead and she could immediately feel the magic working as the pain disappeared into nothingness. "That should feel better now," the High Elf said.

"I'm surprised you two returned so quickly," her father said while Rimion healed her. Then, he looked at the stone slab Farengar was holding. "That's the Dragonstone?"

Farengar nodded. "Your ability to find good help has certainly improved of the years, my Jarl."

Her father looked at Lydia. "Tell them what happened."

"A dragon came over the southern mountains and attacked the Western Watchtower. It was fast—faster than anything I've ever seen. It circled the tower while we shot at it with our bows, but none of us could hit it. Once we were all out of arrows the dragon went on the offensive and killed most of the men. There was only one survivor who remained there—doing so to keep the dragon's attention away from me," Lydia explained.

"We have to do something before it attacks Whiterun," Father said. He turned to his housecarl. "Irileth, you'd better gather some guardsmen and get down there."

"I already directed Hrongar to gather as many men as he could at the barracks."

"Good. Don't fail me." Irileth nodded and proceeded back down the stairs. Father then looked to the Breton and said, "there's no time to stand on ceremony, Katjaa. I need your help again—and the help of your companions, if they'll agree to it. You survived Helgen, so you have more experience with dragons than anyone else here."

The Imperial cleared his throat. "I was there with her."

"Oh, are you her injured friend?" Father asked.

The Imperial looked at Katjaa—the Breton. "Did you tell anyone my name?" He faced Father once again and extended his arm. "Arenar Krex."

Father took Arenar's hand and shook it firmly. "Well met, Arenar. I hope you will help with this dragon threat."

"I'll do my best, sir."

"Well there's one of you," Father said. He quickly glanced over the rest of the group. "Anyone else willing to fight for Whiterun?"

"I will," Katjaa said at once.

"Kill a dragon?" Kole asked. "I'm in."

Rimion rubbed his chin. "I suppose, as long as I am showered in rewards for such a great feat."

Kole sighed. "Do you think this is the right time to be making jokes?"

"Who's joking?"

Father managed a weak smile. "I can assure you all that you will be rewarded handsomely for defending my city."

"Well..." Lydia began as she stood up. "We should get going."

"Where do you think you're going?" Father asked. "You don't really think that I would allow _you _to fight this dragon! You barely survived your first encounter with it!"

"I'm going!" Lydia shouted defiantly.

"No you're not! You could die!"

"Not to interrupt, but you didn't seem as worried about us dying," Rimion pointed out.

Father focused on Rimion with an angry stare—for the first time as far as Lydia knew. "The last time I let her leave the city walls against my better judgment, a dragon attacked the watchtower she was posted at." He turned to Lydia. "You've done enough by alerting us of the dragon. Let them take care of the rest."

"My friend might of sacrificed himself so that I would be able to do that," she said, her calm yet forceful voice betraying no hint of the anger and frustration building inside her. "I will not let him die!"

Her father opened his mouth but Lydia ran for the stairs before he could try to stop her. It was almost funny to her that they had two arguments in the same day that had ended the same way.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: And the fifth main character of "The Nerevarine's Return" has been revealed. Don't worry, I didn't just make Lydia the Jarl's daughter to make it interesting. I have an actual plan further down the road.**

**No more main characters for a while. I figure five is enough for now, though there will be some one-shot perspectives every now and then.**

**Thanks again to harmoniedusoir for being such a great beta-reader. She's pointed out so many mistakes (in a positive way) that if I wasn't getting such great reviews I'd be pretty bummed.**

**So speaking of reviews, do that. Right now. Its right under there. Don't feel shy, I'm gentle.**


	18. Chapter 18: Dragon Rising

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: DRAGON RISING**

**Arenar**

Arenar and the rest of the group were silent as they watched Jarl Balgruuf's daughter run towards the doors at the other end of the wooden mansion. He was still surprised that the two of them were related since they didn't look much alike. _Perhaps she takes after her mother? _

Jarl Balgruuf turned to the group once the doors slammed shut. "I doubt she will listen to reason, so I ask all of you: please keep her safe."

"I've seen her fight before," Kole said. "She does not need more protection than anyone else, especially against a dragon."

"She's my daughter!"

Kole stepped closer to the Jarl. _This isn't going to be good. _"Then you come with us and protect her. That is, after all, the job of a father. Not ours."

The Redguard started down the stairs before the Jarl could respond. "Shor's bones," Jarl Balgruuf sighed. "I am getting tired of people just walking away from me. My daughter is one thing, but him? He should respect me without question, even if he is the Harbinger."

"Are you really surprised though?" Rimion asked.

"No, I suppose not."

"Well, I won't promise that I can keep her safe, but I will do my best to make sure she survives," Katjaa offered.

The Jarl shrugged. "I suppose that's all I can really ask for. Thank you."

Katjaa nodded and began jogging to the door, followed closely behind by Arenar and Rimion. All of them were quiet as they ran through the crowded streets. People were staring up into the sky—searching for what they probably assumed was a dragon. Arenar had heard the roaring when they were heading towards Dragonsreach. No one else in the group had reacted to it, so he guessed it was his imagination.

Unfortunately that wasn't the case.

He and the others made it to the city gates after fifteen minutes of running. In front of the barracks was a crowd of thirty-something Whiterun guards that were in the process of fastening their armor and checking their weapons. The crowd also included Irileth, Kole, and Lydia—still bearing the scowl that had formed in Dragonsreach.

Kole barely acknowledged them once Arenar's group merged into the crowd. "Irileth's just about ready to go. Probably."

"You kinda pissed off the Jarl," Arenar informed him.

"Oh well," Kole seemingly said without care. "Not like I was wrong."

"Still, I'm sure you could've ended that better," Katjaa commented.

Kole shrugged and went silent. Arenar was preparing to speak to Lydia when he noticed the ring on Kole's finger. He recognized it immediately as the same ring that belonged to Tharsten Heart-Fang over two hundred years earlier. Tharsten, who had been the leader of a tribe of Nords known as the Skaal, had been one of the four hunters that Hircine had chosen for his Hunt. Arenar, having also been chosen, had to slay Tharsten in order to progress further through the maze they had been placed in.

But after he did so, the ring that now rested on Kole's right hand suddenly found itself in Arenar's pocket. He had no use for it, as he had no interest in an artifact belonging to Hircine, so he threw it onto the dead beast that had been Tharsten Heart-Fang.

_Is Kole a Hircine worshiper? _Arenar couldn't be sure, but he guessed that would explain—at least, in part—why Kole was so aggressive.

Attempting to brush off this idea, Arenar walked over to Lydia and asked, "are you alright?"

The Nordic woman watched the crowd of guards equip their weapons for a moment before she asked, "did my father ask you to take care of me?"

"He did."

"Well don't. I can take care of myself."

Arenar nodded. "Kole yelled that same thing at your father's face, telling him that you are a good fighter and wouldn't need any extra protection. At least, not as much as the rest of us, considering we're going up against a dragon."

Lydia's scowl changed into an expression of surprise. "He did?"

Again Arenar nodded. "He also said that the only extra protection you would get is if the Jarl fought alongside us. Katjaa, however, said she'll try to keep you alive, if possible."

"I wish my father wouldn't insist on hiring me a babysitter."

Arenar stood next to her as the last guards finished preparing their weapons. After they were all done, Irileth moved in front of the crowd and faced them. _Is it time for a speech?_ "Here's the situation," she began. _Yep. _"A dragon is attacking the Western Watchtower."

An explosion of worried murmuring spread out through the crowd of guardsmen as Irileth continued. "You heard right! I said a dragon! I don't much care where it came from or who sent it. What I do know is that it's made the mistake of attacking Whiterun!"

"But Housecarl," said one of the guards closest to her, "how can we fight a dragon?"

"That's a fair question. None of us have ever seen a dragon before, or expected to face one in battle." Irileth pointed in Arenar's direction. "But they have."

All of the guardsmen looked to Arenar. Arenar, in turn, looked to Katjaa. She silently urged him to speak. Defeated—as he could not say no to her face—the Imperial walked up to Irileth and stood by the Dunmer's side as he spoke. "Irileth speaks the truth. I am one of the survivors of Helgen, and as far as I know, the only one that actually attacked the dragon. Its roar alone managed to break the sky. Along with that, it also breathed fire down on to the village as it flew at an unbelievable speed.

"At one point the beast had me in its grasp. I tried to attack it with my sword, but its scales were harder than any material I have ever seen. I found a chink to stab my blade into, but it didn't seem to do any damage. Perhaps if I'd had a group of warriors, a group such as you, the beast could have been slain. But I didn't, and it wasn't.

"I believe that if we can get it grounded we will have a chance. The problem is that the dragon seemed to know this as well and will remain airborne. Lydia, the Jarl's daughter, reported that the dragon at the Western Watchtower was far too fast for any arrow to hit; I have seen this as well. Our best hope is to slow down the dragon enough for the archers to take out its wings.

"Some of us might die." Arenar momentarily paused, thinking that out of everyone, only he wasn't in danger of dying. "But dying to save the innocent lives of the people of Whiterun sure does sound to me like a great way to die. And through the sacrifice of one, or maybe even all of us, the dragon will be defeated."

Once he was done with his own speech, Arenar looked over to his group. Rimion gave him a thumbs up, Katjaa nodded approvingly, and Kole didn't budge.

"You would all heed the Imperial's words—should you want to survive," Irileth said. "We are honorbound to fight the dragon, even if we fail. This dragon is threatening our homes, our families. Could you call yourselves Nords if you ran from this monster? Will I and the Imperial's companions face this thing alone?"

Some of the guardsmen shook their heads. Other still seemed undecided if they wanted to face the dragon.

"But it's more than our honor at stake here," Irileth reminded them all. "Think of it—the first dragon seen in Skyrim since the last age. The glory of killing it is ours, if you're with me! Now what do you say? Shall we go kill us a dragon?"

All of the guards shouted at once, raising their weapons high above their heads. Even Arenar raised his steel longsword, shouting alongside the Nords.

This ended as soon as Irileth headed for the city gates. The guardsmen closely followed her. Some of them were arguing about who would deal the killing blow, but none seemed as worried as they had been before.

Arenar shuffled over to his group that now included Lydia, as she remained behind with the rest of them. As he was sliding his iron helmet on to his head he saw Rimion wipe away an imaginary tear. "That was so inspiring, brave Sir Knight."

"Shut up," Arenar said.

* * *

Irileth ordered the guardsmen and Arenar's group to halt roughly one hundred yards away from the crumbling tower. Fire burned wildly on both the ground and on the tower though there was no real evidence of the dragon. Arenar hadn't seen it the entire march to the Western Watchtower and half-hoped that the dragon had fled for some reason.

"Spread out and look for survivors. If anyone sees the dragon, call it out immediately," Irileth said.

The guardsmen and Irileth dispersed towards the tower in groups of three or four. Arenar looked back at his group—noting that Lydia seemed rather more anxious than anyone else. "Uh... do what she said."

Kole wandered off immediately. Katjaa followed his example and continued towards the tower alone. Arenar desperately wanted to follow her to be close in case the dragon returned, but he thought back to Lydia not wanting anyone taking care of her and decided against it.

Lydia, meanwhile, was jogging to the tower's entrance.

"What do you want to do?" Rimion asked.

Arenar pointed at the Jarl's daughter. "Let's follow her. Maybe she can tell us more about the dragon."

They arrived inside the crumbling tower a couple seconds behind Lydia. She was proceeding up the stairs at a fast rate, so the duo did the same. Arenar and Rimion found her at the top of the tower, crouched down in front of several bodies. Two of them looked like they had been burned to death and gave off the smell of burnt flesh, but the third one—the one Lydia was closest to—was still alive, though part of his face and torso were burned as well.

"I can't believe you survived," Lydia said to the injured Nordic man.

Arenar pushed his index finger to his lips, signaling Rimion to stay quiet, as the injured Nord spoke in a raspy voice. "Only because I pretended to be dead. Would've done it sooner, but I could still see you and feared the dragon could have too. I didn't have to pretend too hard; I feel like hammered shit."

"Where did the dragon go, Marko?" Lydia asked him.

"I dunno," Marko answered. "It took off once I went down. I wasn't paying attention. Sorry."

Lydia stroked what remained of his ginger hair. "You have nothing to be sorry for." She stood up slowly. "I'll go see if the mage that came with us can heal you."

She turned around just as Arenar and Rimion tried to silently descend the stairs. They only managed to get down to the first stair when she called out behind them, "why were you two listening in?"

The two of them returned to where they had been standing—finding that Lydia's scowl had returned—before Arenar answered. "I wanted to ask you about the dragon so we came up here with you. We weren't trying to eavesdrop. It just... sort of happened."

Lydia nodded. She looked to the Arch-Mage. "So can you heal him?"

Rimion walked over to Marko and knelt down to get a closer look. "I can heal his pain and some of the tissue, but most of the scarring will be permanent."

Marko chuckled for a second before his expression changed into a painful one. "I was always an ugly bastard. Maybe I can take this and turn it around. Some women find scars attractive."

"Better hope they're the same women that also find bald men attractive. I don't think your hair will grow back in the places it was burned off," Rimion said as he cast a Restoration spell on the Nord's face. "Not entirely at least."

He kept up the spell for a couple minutes. Once the orange glow in Rimion's hand disappeared, Arenar took another look at Marko. The top left half of the Nord's face—which had been the most severely damaged—was not as bloody or dark as it had been. He still looked bad, but knowing Rimion's magic Arenar guessed the man would live.

"We should move him down to the sleeping rolls on the bottom floor," Arenar suggested. "In case the dragon comes back."

"You okay with that?" Lydia asked Marko. He nodded. "Alright. I'll get his feet; you take the other side."

Arenar walked over to Marko, bending down and gently tucking his hands under the Nord's shoulders. Lydia grabbed his feet in a similar fashion. "I'll just stand over here and supervise," Rimion said.

Arenar and Lydia picked up Marko simultaneously and slowly descended down the stairs. They got to the bottom floor a minute later where they placed him on the floor.

"Did any of the other guards survive?" Marko asked once he was on the sleeping roll.

"We didn't see anyone else outside," Lydia answered. "And the guards that had been outside were attacked by the dragon as I was leaving."

"Oh," was all Marko said. He closed his eyes and soon began to snore.

Arenar decided against asking Lydia for information about the dragon as she crouched down next to the sleeping man. He walked out of the tower with Rimion tagging along beside him. Most of the guards were to the right of the tower where several burnt corpses lay in front of a small archery range. Kole was nowhere in sight, and Katjaa and Irileth were discussing something a little ways north of him.

"So..." Rimion began after Arenar started walking towards Katjaa. "You did a good job mentioning that you're a part of an organization made illegal by the Thalmor forty years ago. I especially liked the part when you said the Morrowind Chapter. For not wanting anyone to know you're immortal, you're doing a terrible job."

"It slipped out," Arenar said. "I haven't considered myself a Blade since the Red Mountain explosion wiped out all the Blades I ever knew. Most people knew of my trip to Akavir but you're one of the only few that knows I returned. Since I was thought either dead or missing, I decided to leave the Blades."

"Why did you do that anyway?"

Arenar laughed. "I hadn't a choice whether or not I could join the Blades. When I saw a way out, I took it."

"If not for Uriel Septim deciding to send you into Morrowind, you wouldn't be here today. Unless you could have found another way to become ageless and un-killable, which I doubt would be easy from a prison cell."

"Part of me wishes I died a long time ago. I can't believe elves like such an extended lifespan. Though these days—" Arenar stopped in front of Katjaa and flashed her a smile. "—not so much."

Katjaa returned the smile before speaking. "Irileth and I both think it's odd that the dragon would leave for seemingly no reason. Did you guys find any survivors?"

Rimion nodded. "Lydia's friend; name's Marko. He was burned pretty badly, but he'll live. He said he faked being killed by the dragon then it flew away."

"Odd," Irileth commented. "Attacks the tower then leaves? Farengar says that dragons were intelligent creatures, but the way this dragon is acting I am beginning to think the court wizard is making things up to look good."

"We mages are constantly looking for ways to appear more useful than we really are," Rimion joked. "There's this Khajiit at the College—"

A loud roar echoed across the sky. It didn't sound nearly as powerful as the dragon from Helgen, so Arenar suspected as he pulled out his sword that it was a different—and hopefully weaker—dragon that attacked the Western Watchtower.

The thought didn't comfort Arenar as much as he hoped it would as he looked upon the destruction that the beast had unleashed on the guards.

Arenar joined the other three in scanning the skies, looking for the flying monster. Katjaa had her steel daggers out, Irileth was armed with a steel sword in one hand and a Destruction spell in the other, and Rimion was forming a large fireball. He saw Lydia exit the tower with her shield raised up to block the sun while she walked towards the group of guards, each one with bows aimed high. Kole was still not in sight.

"What do we do?" Katjaa asked after a couple minutes of silence.

Arenar had no clue. His plan to get the dragon grounded had not included the possibility that the dragon would not show up.

"DRAGON!" A scream rang out from the group of guards. Seconds later a gray streak zoomed over Arenar's head, along with a swarm of arrows that missed what he assumed was the dragon.

The dragon, its grayish scale color confirming it was not the one that attacked Helgen, circled the tower while arrows continued to go nowhere near it. Watching this occur made the Imperial realize that it was doing what it had done the first time it attacked the tower.

"Stop shooting!" he yelled just as the dragon started roaring again. None of the guards had heard him and continued their attack with the bow. Arenar repeated himself louder but another roar drowned out his voice.

He turned to the three people behind him. "The dragon knows that its safest bet is to make them waste their arrows then fight back."

Rimion canceled his fireball. "I guess Farengar wasn't making stuff up. Maybe if I hit it with a Paralyze..." His hands started to grow green as he prepared the Alteration spell.

"I'll go stop the archers before they run out of arrows." Arenar ran towards the guards with Katjaa while Irileth remained with the Arch-Mage.

Everyone but Lydia was armed with bows. Lydia, meanwhile, was trying to stop some of the guards from shooting—seemingly having noticed that the dragon was sticking to its original plan.

"Stop shooting!" Arenar shouted at the top of his lungs, this time not having to compete with the roars of the dragon. All of the guards did as he said and stared at him.

"Why?" one of the guards asked.

Before Arenar could answer the dragon roared behind him. He turned around to see that it had slowed down significantly. It had been flying faster than the dragon at Helgen but was slightly smaller than it as well. The dragon opened its mouth as it closed in on the massive group of people. A green projectile—no doubt that it was Rimion's Paralyze spell—struck one of the dragon's wings but failed to even slow down the beast.

"_YOL_..._TOOR_..." the dragon was booming across the battlefield.

"Everyone run!" Lydia cried out on the second word.

Arenar and most of the guards did as the Jarl's daughter directed and took off in different directions, though ten guards decided to stay and fire at the dragon.

The arrows bounced harmlessly off of the dragon's face as it spoke a final word. "..._SHUL_!" Fire erupted from the dragon's mouth on to the ten guards as the monster flew over them. Each Nord yelled and screamed as they slowly burned to death. Seeing the burnt bodies fall to the ground reminded Arenar of all those who were killed by the dragon in Helgen and made him more determined to save Whiterun.

An idea formed in Arenar's head. "Get to the tower!" he ordered in his loudest voice.

Instantly everyone started for the Western Watchtower. A few of the guards and Rimion continued their assault on the dragon as they ran, trying to keep the dragon from unleashing any more damage. A minute later the first floor of the tower was packed with twenty or so Nords—one of which was the injured Marko—an Imperial, a Breton, and a High Elf. _Where is Kole?! _

"Arrows didn't do shit against the dragon!" a guard announced, which was followed by shouts of agreement. "Even when the damn thing didn't dodge them!"

"It has very few weak points," Arenar pointed out. "Only portions of its wings are unprotected by scales. That was how the dragon was going to be knocked out of the air."

"That didn't work!" another Nord yelled out.

"That's why we need a new plan!" Arenar yelled back. He began racking his brain for something, anything that would work. _We can attack the dragon once it is on the ground—though whether or not it will work is an entirely different thing. Somehow the wings have to be taken out. But how?! _

Arenar surprised and shocked himself when he came up with his newest idea. "This is what we'll do. A group of archers will head outside and distract the dragon with arrows from the right side of the tower. If it continues to go with its plan, the beast will circle the group without attacking. Meanwhile, I will go to the top of the tower with my own group of guards—including Rimion—and..."

A short pause ended when the first guard that had yelled at him asked, "and what?"

"You'll see. The group that goes outside, stop attacking the dragon once you see a fireball come from the top of the tower."

"I suppose that's what I'm for?" Rimion asked. "I guess I can do that. I'll summon up some Atronachs to help out the distraction group, but someone should lead them. Since I'll be busy being the most important part of your plan, it will have to be someone else."

"I'll do it," Katjaa volunteered.

"No," Arenar said. "It should be someone else. Maybe Irileth? She'll have the best chance against the dragon's fire."

Katjaa grabbed the amulet around her neck. "This has a fire protection enchantment, plus my natural resistance to magic will put me at the same level as her own resistance to fire."

"She has a good point," Irileth said.

Arenar sighed. "Okay, fine. Just stay safe—and that goes for all of you. If my plan works, the dragon should be grounded soon."

Half of the guards, Katjaa, Lydia, and Irileth left the tower after he was done speaking and moved towards the archery range. Arenar ran up the stairs, leading the rest of the guards and Rimion to the third floor. Once they were there, Arenar saw the dragon had gone back to flying around the tower as arrows and ice bolts—which Arenar guessed were being casted by Rimion's Atronachs—missed the beast by miles.

"Guardsmen, nock your arrows and attack on my word. Rimion—"

"Yeah, I got it," the High Elf said as he flung a fireball into the air.

The arrows from below the tower ended. Just as Arenar had expected, the dragon began to slow down as it continued to circle the tower. _I have to do this before it starts attacking Katjaa. _

"This is what's going to happen," Arenar began, keeping his attention on the dragon the entire time. "Once it slows down enough, I—"

"You plan to jump on to the dragon."

It took Arenar half a second to realize that the person who interrupted him was Kole. "Where have you been?" he asked without looking at the Redguard.

"Doesn't matter. I'll join you," Kole said once he stood next to Arenar.

"This is a one man job."

"Fine. Stay behind."

Arenar grunted. _No point in fighting with him._ "Guards, once we are on, start shooting at it again so that it won't attack the distraction group. Keep the arrows going until you all run out."

The dragon was now at the slowest he had ever seen it, so he started running straight ahead, hoping that the dragon wouldn't suddenly slow down more or speed up. Kole could've easily overtaken him, but the Harbinger seemed to be thinking the same thing.

They leaped together from the top of the Western Watchtower to the dragon's back. Both of them grasped on to the nearest available scales to keep from falling off, though the dragon had either not noticed them or didn't care as it maintained its speed.

From atop the tower, the guards began attacking the dragon. The beast immediately sped up its pace until the world around Arenar became just a blur.

"Try to take out the wings," Arenar yelled over the dragon's roaring.

Kole didn't bother to speak before he began crawling towards the dragon's right wing. Arenar inched his way to the left wing instead.

Once on the wing, he began searching for a way to damage it. All the while he struggled to keep his grip. The wing had the least amount of scales, making it harder for Arenar to ensure he didn't fall out of the sky for the second time that week.

His first guess was to just stab into one of the many chinks between the scales into the pinkish flesh below. He searched around for one that his sword would fit through, but ended up with nothing.

He looked over to Kole and gasped. Both of Kole's arms were covered in dark fur and had claws at the end of his fingers. _He's not just a Hircine worshiper—he's a werewolf! _Kole began ripping scales from the dragon's wing and flinging them off.

The dragon roared—no doubt feeling what the Redguard was doing to it. It banked hard to the left, but Kole managed to dig one of his hands into the flesh he had revealed before he could be knocked off.

Having no claws of his own to get through the scales, Arenar began using his steel sword as a lever to peel off the scales. The process wasn't as fast as Kole's, but one by one he pulled off the armor-like plating that had been protecting the dragon before.

Again Arenar glanced at the Harbinger. His arms were now back to their normal state and wielding the steel short-sword he had been using when fighting the giant. Kole had been watching him, waiting until he was done before attacking the wing directly.

Arenar nodded and stabbed straight through the wing, dragging it side-to-side to create a hole in the wing. All the while the dragon was screeching in what the Imperial assumed was pain.

The dragon somehow began to speed up as the hole in its wing continued to grow larger, which confused Arenar. A few seconds passed before he realized that the dragon was now heading straight towards the ground.

"Wait, how are we going to get off of this without dying?" Arenar asked himself, realizing at the same time that he hadn't previously thought of this situation.

"Jump!" Kole answered, pointing to the tower.

Seconds before the dragon would crash-land into the earth, Arenar leaped off of the wing in the direction of the nearby tower. Kole had to cautiously but quickly run across the dragon's back to get close enough to the tower that he would have a chance of not squishing against the ground.

With his arm extended out as far as he could, Arenar managed to grab onto the ledge of a giant hole in the tower's wall. He had feared the sudden stop would dislocate his arm, but the pain ended almost immediately. The Imperial looked up to see Rimion had appeared and was casting a healing spell over both him and Kole, who had landed next to Arenar.

The impact knocked the air out of his lungs, but other than a future bruised back Arenar was unscathed. Kole hit the ground next to him and looked to be in a similar state.

Rimion looked worried as he asked, "you alright?"

Arenar only nodded as he tried to catch his breath.

"Good," he said. "Cause the dragon's still alive!"

Kole and Arenar—with the help of some of the guards—got up to their feet at the same time and looked at the beast they had taken down together through the hole. It was stomping its way towards the distraction group as they were already starting their assault on the now flightless dragon.

Arrows fired from left and right at the beast but few managed to stick. Some of the braver guards—alongside Lydia, Irileth, and Katjaa—closed in with swords and axes to fight it head on. Ice spikes casted by Rimion's Frost Atronachs pierced different parts of the dragon's body but appeared too short to do any real damage.

Kole was the first person that started down the stairs but was immediately followed by Arenar and the others. As the Imperial exited the tower he saw the dragon grab one of the guards from the distraction group in its mouth and eat him.

Rimion shot a lightning bolt into the left side of the dragon's face. The spell appeared to do little to no damage but managed to direct the dragon's attention towards the group charging at it from the tower.

The dragon's mouth opened wide and from it appeared a fire ball aimed at the group. Most of the warriors were outside of the blast radius but three of the guards didn't make it out in time.

Arenar led the remaining guards to the dragon's head. He and Kole were attacking the beast with their swords while most of the guards resorted to using their bows instead. Rimion continued to cast a variety of Destruction spells—likely trying to find one that would actually do a sizable amount of damage.

Meanwhile Katjaa's group was using a similar tactic against the right side of the dragon's body, with Irileth casting spells against the dragon.

Arenar had to duck and dodge a series of attacks while under the dragon's head. First—and most life threatening—was the dragon itself, which was snapping at him with its mouth and breathing fire down on him and the others consistently. He also had to watch out for arrows being fired off by the guards behind him and spells originating from the Arch-Mage.

The dragon turned to face Katjaa's group much quicker than its massive size should have allowed. Its tail swung around and knocked Arenar and Kole off of their feet with enough force to bruise the Imperial's ribs.

Arenar got back to his feet just as the dragon clamped down on Katjaa's arm. The Breton's agonizing scream and pained expression was the worst thing Arenar had seen in his life. Immediately he thought back to the corpse of Lielle that he had found with a stream of blood around her neck wound. A death of the only person he had ever loved because he wasn't there to protect her.

_Not again._

He sprinted around to the dragon's face—roaring in anger as loudly as the dragon's own roars—and stabbed its left eye.

The dragon recoiled away from the attack—releasing an injured Katjaa from its grasp as well. It stared down at Arenar with its good eye with such a ferocity that it would frighten a normal man.

But Arenar was not a normal man.

"_YOL—_"

Arenar thrusted his sword into the dragon's open, exposed mouth and pierced through the roof of it. Dark red blood sprayed out of the open wound as he continued to relentlessly stab the beast.

The dragon's vicious screeching that started with the first strike of Arenar's sword ended with the seventh strike. It collapsed to the ground as Arenar turned his attention to Katjaa. Rimion was healing her damaged arm while the rest of the guards were staring at the dead dragon.

Arenar picked up the steel dagger that Katjaa dropped when the dragon let go of her and presented it to her. "I think you dropped this."

She gave him a thankful smile and accepted the weapon. "Thanks, I would have—"

"By the Nine!"

Arenar turned around to see what the commotion was all about. The dragon's body was burning into ashes, revealing the large skeletal frame that held the guard the dragon ate earlier. As the fire that surrounded the dragon began to burn even brighter, a bluish-purple beam of light surrounded both the dragon and Kajtaa.

Arenar stared in horror until the light faded from existence. He looked to Katjaa—who now had a strange glint in her eyes—before asking, "what was that?"

From the sky boomed a single word that had was louder than the dragon's roaring: "_DOVAHKIIN_!"

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry about the long delay. School started for me last week (I'm in my junior year, in case anyone was wondering) which has kept me plenty busy. Plus I decided to re-edit the dragon fight due to a suggestion by my beta-reader. I like this version more, but I still feel it is slightly boring.**

**Anyways, thanks to harmoniedusoir for betaing (that's not a word, but let's assume it is). Review if you feel this chapter is review worthy.**


	19. Chapter 19: Thane of Whiterun

**CHAPTER NINETEEN: THANE OF WHITERUN**

**Jarl Balgruuf**

Jarl Balgruuf the Greater had to use all of his willpower to hide his curiosity as the group he had sent to kill the dragon returned to Dragonsreach. He and Hrongar had been discussing a plan if the dragon reached Whiterun when the calling of the Greybeards had echoed throughout his home.

Most of the people who had been waiting to have an audience with the Jarl left when he issued an end to the city lock-down. The rest—Nords mostly—wanted to meet the first true Dragonborn since Talos as soon as they could. Jarl Balgruuf wanted to as well, but he knew he or she would soon be arriving, assuming that the Dragonborn was one of the members of the group.

As the group of weary warriors got closer to him, Jarl Balgruuf started to wonder which one had been blessed with the soul and blood of a dragon. _It's probably either_ _Kole or Arenar, as they're both strong men, even if they aren't Nords. I guess it could be Katjaa, though she doesn't seem like the type. __If it's Rimion, we're all doomed._

As the group stopped a few feet in front of him he realized for the first time that someone was missing. "Where is Lydia?!" he asked, feeling terrible that he had forgotten about her due to the excitement of meeting a Dragonborn.

The Imperial spoke. "Do not worry, she's fine. There were some casualties as well as an injured survivor of the first attack on the tower. Lydia and Irileth volunteered to stay behind to take care of them."

"She wasn't harmed?"

"A few scrapes and minor burns, but every injury was healed by Rimion."

"Aww, you mentioned me," Rimion joked.

Jarl Balgruuf nodded, happy to hear his daughter had survived. "So the dragon is dead?"

"Yes, Jarl Balgruuf," Arenar answered. "Though it turns out that the dragon that attacked the Western Watchtower is not the same one that destroyed Helgen. In fact, I think that Helgen's dragon is stronger than the one that was here."

"Indeed?" _Farengar hadn't mentioned the possibility of different types of dragons. _"Two dragons attack two settlements in Skyrim almost within a week of each other. I suppose this confirms Farengar's theory that there are more dragons on the horizon."

"One was too many," Rimion sighed. "Glad to hear there's more."

"We will be fine," Kole assured him. "We now have a tactic to kill a dragon. The best way to defeat an enemy is to learn its weaknesses."

Rimion gave the Redguard a sarcastic look. "So you're telling us that there will always be a tower that a dragon will be flying around? Thank the Divines for that."

"What was that about the tower?" Jarl Balgruuf asked.

Kole—who had been glaring at the Arch-Mage with an annoyed expression—said, "Arenar and I took out the dragon's wings by jumping on its back while it was circling the tower. He killed it once the beast was grounded."

"You two rode a dragon? That sounds impressive!"

Arenar rubbed the back of his head. "It turns out that dragon riding is not nearly as fun as one would think."

Jarl Balgruuf stared at Arenar. "So the Greybeards were calling for you then?"

Arenar's face expressed confusion. "Greybeards?"

"They're the Masters of the Way of the Voice—of Shouting. They live on top of the Throat of the World. If you're really Dragonborn—"

"Wait, what?" Arenar interrupted. "I'm not the Dragonborn."

"But you killed the dragon, didn't you?" Arenar nodded. "Well if you're not the Dragonborn, then who is?"

Three pairs of eyes shot directly to Katjaa. She looked very nervous as the Jarl's own eyes looked over her, analyzing any detail on her person that would confirm she was the Dragonborn. But other than a torn part of the leather protecting one of her arms, she looked exactly the same as she had when she left.

Silence filled the air for several minutes until the Jarl finally found the words he wanted to speak. "Katjaa Amarie, you are the Dragonborn?"

She shrugged. "Maybe. That's just what the men called me."

"Not just the men," Jarl Balgruuf reminded her. "The Greybeards seem to think the same thing."

"Well what do they want with me? I didn't know I was... Dragonborn."

"The Dragonborn is said to be uniquely gifted in the Voice—the ability to focus your vital essence into a Thu'um, or Shout. If you really are Dragonborn, they can teach you how to use your gift."

Jarl Balgruuf's brother, Hrongar—who had been watching the conversation from a distance—approached the group and the Jarl as he said, "didn't you hear the thundering sound? That was the voice of the Greybeards, summoning you to High Hrothgar! This hasn't happened in... centuries, at least. Not since Tiber Septim himself was summoned when he was still Talos of Atmora!"

Proventus—who, like always, was found standing by the Jarl's throne—raised his hands in a cautionary stance. "Hrongar, calm yourself. What does any of this Nord nonsense have to do with our friend here? Capable as she may be, I don't see any signs of her being this, what, 'Dragonborn.'"

"Nord nonsense?!" Hrongar roared.

"Uh-oh," Jarl Balgruuf heard Rimion whisper to Arenar. "That wasn't good for his health."

"Why you puffed-up ignorant... these are our sacred traditions that go back to the founding of the First Empire!" Hrongar continued.

Jarl Balgruuf raised his hand to order silence. He looked to his brother and said, "Hrongar. Don't be so hard on Avenicci."

"I meant no disrespect, of course" Proventus quickly added. "It's just... what do these Greybeards want with her?"

"That's the Greybeards' business, not ours," Jarl Balgruuf informed him. His attention returned to the group before him—though he mainly spoke directly to Katjaa. "But first, I think a reward is in order for these brave men and... woman, as well as an increase to the guards' pay. Don't argue with me Proventus—make this so."

Proventus sighed. "Your word is law."

"Aye. Now, what should you all be rewarded with?"

"If I can make a suggestion, a large sum of gold and your finest horses?" Rimion asked jokingly.

"Gold I can do, but all of the horses in the stable have fallen ill; besides, gold is a common reward, you all deserve something better. Rimion, I suppose we'll start with you. A staff perhaps? One from Farengar's personal inventory I think will do well."

Rimion chuckled. "Are you sure that the court wizard will be eager to hand over one of his staves?"

"He has plenty. Besides, he won't say no to me."

"Good point."

Jarl Balgruuf switched his attention over to Arenar. "Your armor is rather... bad. Plus that large hole in the middle of the cuirass won't do well with protecting your chest. You shall receive a full set of the finest steel plate armor that I can find you, should you want."

"I certainly do," Arenar said.

"Good." He intentionally skipped Katjaa who had been standing next to Arenar and went to Kole next. "Harbinger. I'm not entirely sure what you would want."

"I don't want or need anything. Gold will be fine," Kole said.

Jarl Balgruuf shrugged. "One thousand Septims sound good to you?" Proventus opened his mouth to argue against the large sum of money, but he seemed to decide that there would be no point.

"Sounds good to me."

Finally the Jarl looked at Katjaa. "Before I give you your reward, may I make a request?"

"I suppose," Katjaa said slowly.

"Do you know how to Shout?"

She gulped. "Uh... yes. I only know one word though."

"I would be honored to hear the Dragonborn speak, should your Thu'um not be one that could destroy Dragonsreach."

"Okay," Katjaa said hesitantly.

She turned around to face the dining table closest to Farengar's office. The table was filled with an assortment of dishes that the cooks had prepared for lunch. She took up a defensive pose as she continued to deeply breath in and out.

"_FUS_!"

A wave of energy passed over the table. Food that had been sitting on fancy dishes was now splattered against the wall next to it with broken shards of the plates landing on the floor. Wine bottles that hadn't been opened yet were now either broken on top of the table or staining the floor. Had Jarl Balgruuf not been so entranced by the ancient magic, he would have been angry about the large mess.

The Breton had stumbled when she Shouted, and when she turned around to face the Jarl she looked physically exhausted. "Sorry, I did a lot less damage when I was just Shouting into the sky," she said as she wiped sweat off her brow.

"That was most impressive," Jarl Balgruuf said. "Don't worry about the mess; the maids will clean it up. The cooks might be a little less forgiving."

"So can I hop up on the other table and knock everything off of it?"

"Maybe later, Rimion. For now, I think we'll go back to the rewarding." Jarl Balgruuf paused before he addressed Katjaa again. "Dragonborn—"

"Please, just call me Katjaa."

"... Katjaa, you will be rewarded with the title of Thane. It is the highest rank I am able to give you without offering you my throne. You will be seen as nobility, at least within Whiterun Hold. I will also give you a home in the Plains District, free of charge."

"Well I'd hope so," Rimion commented. "You don't _sell _a house to the Dragonborn, after all."

Katjaa gave him a dead-serious look as she said, "it's just Katjaa. Even if I am Dragonborn, that is not my name."

"In addition," Jarl Balgruuf continued, "you will be given a housecarl—a warrior who will defend your life with their own."

"I will be the Dragonborn's housecarl," Hrongar offered.

"Seriously, can no one call me Katjaa anymore?" the Breton asked aloud.

"Hrongar, the Dra—Katjaa will be allowed to choose her own housecarl when she is ready. But until then, I believe a celebration is in order. The first dragon killed in over a thousand years, right here in Whiterun."

Katjaa yawned. "To be honest, I'd like a nap first. And a bath."

Jarl Balgruuf smiled. "Of course. You are welcome to the guest room I gave you earlier this week, should you want it, as the house in the Plains District has been abandoned for years and will require a clean up."

"Not to be pushy, but I could rest too," Arenar said. Rimion nodded in agreement.

"Both of you can have rooms as well. Meanwhile—" Jarl Balgruuf looked at Proventus "—begin preparations for this celebration. Take some of the guards around here with you to help, and tell the townspeople that I will pay for all the ale and food they can eat and drink."

Proventus sighed as he started walking towards the doors. "Why don't we just spend the entire city's gold supply?"

"What was that?" Jarl Balgruuf asked rhetorically.

"Nothing sir."

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Shorter chapter this time. Without this note it comes in at less than 1,900 words. I just felt that since this is kind of an in-between chapter that it didn't need to be much longer than this.**

**I wanted to thank everyone who mentioned in their reviews on the last chapter that the dragon fight wasn't boring. I guess me writing it then re-writing it made it appear so in my eyes, even though my beta-reader read it twice as well and still didn't think it was boring.**

**Speaking of my beta, thanks again to harmoniedusoir for taking the time to catch my errors. This chapter had a few more than I have had recently but it is because I rushed through typing it up during my lunch period at school.**

**Reviews are welcome. I could have said mandatory. Go ahead and mention in your review how nice I am for giving you a choice. **


	20. Chapter 20: The Festival

**CHAPTER TWENTY: THE FESTIVAL**

**Katjaa**

The night time festival celebration was an odd experience, in Katjaa's opinion. It was no doubt fun, but she was the main attraction. The citizens in attendance seemed to revolve around her and follow her wherever she went. The crowd of Nordic men seemed to spend most of the night staring at her in awe.

She had spent most of the day sleeping in the room the Jarl provided for her because the Shouting had been more taxing than she had let on. She had barely made it to her bed before passing out. She slept until Rimion woke her up at eight, an hour before the festival began. Most of that hour she spent taking a bath but all of it she was thinking about her role as the Dragonborn.

_Why me? _Katjaa couldn't think of a good answer to that question. She was a proficient fighter but was far from being an intimidating figure on a battlefield. Plus she was a Breton, which conflicted with the Nordic vision of the Dragonborn.

That stereotype didn't stop over a dozen drunken Nordic men from proposing to Katjaa at the festival.

Once she had finished taking her long, refreshing bath she changed into clean clothing that Lydia had loaned her. The long-sleeved white shirt and brown pants were a little big on her, but were much better than having to wear a dress. Katjaa decided to leave her leather armor and weapons behind in the room to hopefully blend in with the crowd and not be noticed.

The second she walked out of Dragonsreach she had been recognized.

Despite being followed everywhere she went, Katjaa attempted to visit all of the spectacles the festival offered. The town square was the most packed area when not including Katjaa's followers. Several stations were set up by cooks and other workers from Dragonsreach giving out goods that the Jarl had paid for. The sweet smell of pies, sweetrolls, and other desserts filled the air, prompting the Breton to have a sweetroll or two. Bottles and glasses of mead were being given away as well at such a rate that one of the workers spent his entire time running back to Dragonsreach to get more. Katjaa had only one glass of mead because she was considered a lightweight and couldn't drink much more than that without stumbling around drunk for the entire celebration.

At Jorrvaskr there was a sparring tournament that invited anyone who dared to an opportunity to take on the Companions in hand-to-hand combat. Katjaa decided to watch a couple of fights and wasn't surprised when the first two challengers were put down almost immediately by the Companion they had chosen.

Then there was an elderly woman who stepped out of the crowd of observers and pointed to a Dark Elf who stood in the group of Companions. The other Companions oohed as the Dunmer emerged from the group and proceeded towards the dueling circle.

He cracked his knuckles as the Nordic woman stepped into it as well. "I don't want to hurt you lady. You can still back out if you—"

A balled-up fist slammed into the elf's nose which immediately began gushing blood as he fell to the ground. "That's for flirting with my daughter," the woman said as she stood over the fallen Dunmer.

The elf looked up at his opponent while wiping away some of the blood draining from his freshly-broken nose. "You're Greiri's mother?"

Greiri's mother responded with a swift kick to the elf's stomach, causing him to collapse back into the dirt face-first.

"Stay away from her," the woman said as she left the dueling circle and started walking towards the town square. Rather than be upset or angry that one of their fellows was defeated by such an unexpected fighter, the other Companions laughed as some of them helped up the bruised and battered Dunmer. Katjaa and the rest of the crowd joined in on the laughter soon after.

What surprised Katjaa about the tournament was that Kole hadn't taken part. He stood in the crowd of observers, watching the fights with his gray dog to his left and the Nordic archer he referred to as Aela to his right. Aela didn't look upset like she had when Katjaa had met and spoke to her days earlier, but the Breton could see right through her poorly-hidden emotional mask.

Katjaa left Jorrvaskr after the fight between the Dunmer and the older woman. As she started down the stairs towards the marketplace an explosion of bright, colorful lights filled the sky. The scene was beautiful, if a bit loud. Rimion was the one behind the explosions; he had teamed up with one of Whiterun's alchemists to make a magical projectile that he called "fireworks."

Down in the marketplace all of the stalls were busy with buyers taking advantage of the major discount the Jarl ordered. A weapons dealer begged Katjaa to take an elven dagger that he had made for free. He refused the coins she offered him, saying that, "the Dragonborn using one of my weapons will make more money than I could dream of!"

She slid the elven dagger into her pocket as a voice behind her asked, "miss Dragonborn, how are you enjoying the festivities?"

Katjaa turned around and was startled by the sight. She had recognized the speaker as Arenar but his appearance surprised her. Like Katjaa, the Imperial had decided to leave his brand-new armor behind, though his steel longsword was still sitting on his waist. He wore a buttoned, dark-red coat and black pants. His face was freshly shaved—revealing a small scar on his chin that she hadn't seen before—and his hair was combed down where it had been sticking up ever since she met him.

In Katjaa's eyes, he looked like a god that decided her worthy to be in his presence.

She had to recollect herself before answering. "Um... everything's been good, so far. Looking a little better now." She pulled out her elven dagger and waved it in his face. "But don't think I won't hurt you if you call me 'Dragonborn' again."

He smiled as she put the small blade away. "How many times have you heard that tonight?"

Katjaa shrugged. "I honestly can't say. Much more than I can count."

Arenar offered her his arm. "May I join you for the rest of the celebration?"

"So has anyone even said thank you for killing the dragon?" she asked him after they started walking together.

"As far as most people know, you brought down the dragon with your mighty Thu'um and fought it one-on-one until you granted it a merciful death after smacking it back-and-forth across the outskirts of Whiterun," Arenar informed her.

She stared at him, trying to find any hint that he was joking, but couldn't find one. "Where did they hear that from?"

"Rimion."

Katjaa couldn't stop herself from giggling. "Why did I even ask? Still, you deserve more credit than I do. All I managed to do was get bitten by the damned thing."

"You should count yourself lucky that it didn't take your arm," Arenar said.

"I suppose."

They walked in silence as they strolled down the road the led to the city gate. Arenar pointed to a small building next to the blacksmith and said, "that's Breezehome—the house the Jarl gave you."

Katjaa looked at it with dismay. The house was smaller than any of the neighboring ones and looked much less appealing to her eyes. _No wonder I got it for free. _"Well... maybe it looks better on the inside?" she asked with a lot of hope behind her words.

They turned up the road that passed between the barracks and _The Drunken Huntsman_, prompting Katjaa to tell Arenar the story of her confusing the shop as an inn the first night she was in Whiterun. She finished the story halfway through the housing district and then decided to address something that had been bothering her almost as much as being called "Dragonborn" by everyone.

"Back in Farengar's office, what did you mean about being an Operative?"

Arenar's expression revealed he was uncomfortable with the question, but he answered it regardless. "I was just trying to get some info out of her. The first thing I could think of was pretending to be a Blade. Guess it would've worked better had I not chosen the Morrowind Chapter."

"It was pretty shocking when we saw her," Katjaa said. "Delphine said something about having secrets back at _The Sleeping Giant Inn_, but I never suspected her to be a part of an illegal organization, much less the one that used to be in charge of protecting the Septim emperors." Katjaa's eyes narrowed as she asked, "how did you know what her sword meant?"

Arenar was quiet for a while. She almost repeated the question but then he said, "my family was once apart of the Blades, before they were outlawed. My grandfather owned a sword like that and told me it was the style that the Blades adopted from their predecessors, the Dragonguard."

Katjaa couldn't help but feel that Arenar had lied to her as they continued walking towards the town square in silence. She couldn't exactly say why, but she decided not to press the issue.

As they passed under the large tree in the middle of the town square—still being distantly followed by a large crowd who were in their thirty-seventh rendition of "The Dragonborn Comes"—Rimion quickly approached them from the direction of Dragonsreach.

"Enjoy the fireworks?" he asked with a wide grin on his face.

"A little loud, don't you think?" Arenar asked him in return.

"Come on, old man. It's not that loud."

"Old man?" Katjaa repeated.

"Inside joke," Rimion told her.

"So why are you telling people that I killed the dragon alone in the most insane and improbable way?"

The Arch-Mage scratched his head. "It's not like I started the rumor. I just... helped pass it along. Besides, no harm no foul."

Katjaa sighed. "No harm no foul?" She waved her arm behind her, directing Rimion's attention to the massive crowd that was listening in on the conversation. "You think these people are migrating slightly behind me by coincidence?"

"I'd say no."

"So stop it."

Rimion rubbed his chin. "I'll get back to you on that. But right now we have to head up to Dragonsreach."

"Why is that?" Arenar asked.

"Lydia told me that the Jarl wants to have a meeting about the Greybeards. Why he decided to ruin tonight with a boring lecture is something we'll have to find out there."

* * *

Ten minutes after being cloaked by Rimion with an invisibility spell to escape the crowd, Katjaa and the rest of the group entered Dragonsreach Other than a few maids and the occasional cook's assistant the hall was empty. Lydia stood by the wall left of the court wizard's office, seemingly waiting for them.

"What's going on?"

Katjaa turned around to see Kole had entered the wooden mansion. He no longer wore his odd leather armor but still had on the black sleeveless shirt and light brown pants he had under it. His sheathed sword rested on his thigh.

"A Dragonborn-related meeting," Arenar answered.

"I suppose this was a private meeting then?" Kole asked in a rough tone.

"Of course not, everyone is invited. This is going to be more of a party than a boring and formal meeting," Rimion said jokingly.

"Harbinger, you were instrumental in taking down the dragon," Jarl Balgruuf said from somewhere behind Katjaa. "You are welcome to join us, though I do not see why. I only needed the Dra—Katjaa."

Kole nodded and proceeded past the group and towards the court wizard's office. Katjaa and the others followed him into the room to find it was full of people. Farengar, Irileth, and now Jarl Balgruuf all sat on one side of the table while Lydia and a few other empty chairs were on the other.

Katjaa sat down in the chair closest to Lydia as the Jarl spoke. "So we have to decide what course of action will be taken."

"About what?" Arenar asked as he took the seat next to Katjaa.

"The Greybeards. They have called for you, Katjaa. It would be unwise to ignore their summons."

Rimion rested into the chair next to Kole—much to the Redguard's obvious annoyance—and said, "did we really have to have a meeting about this? I was having fun with the fireworks."

"Nobody asked you to be here," Kole responded.

"Really? As I recall, I wasn't the one who almost missed out on the meeting."

"Enough!" Irileth shouted. Both men went quiet, though Kole seemed to do it only because Rimion obeyed first.

"The Greybeards can be found at The Throat of the World, in High Hrothgar," Jarl Balgruuf continued once the two men stopped arguing. "High Hrothgar is only accessible from Ivarstead—a small village southeast of The Throat of the World, for those of you who weren't aware."

"Why there?" Katjaa asked.

"That is where the Seven Thousand Steps begin."

Rimion pretended to be shocked by the Jarl's response. "Seven Thousand! Why couldn't it be the thirty-four steps?"

Farengar sighed. "There is another issue we must attend to. The first dragon attack took place in Helgen, which by my understanding you were inside of prior to the attack."

"That's correct," Katjaa said.

"Then not to long after you left Whiterun, another dragon appeared and attacked the Western Watchtower."

"You're suggesting that the dragons were drawn to her?" Arenar asked.

Farengar slowly nodded. "It's only a theory, of course. So much information about the dragons has been lost over time, so very little can be said for certain about the beasts. Possibly the dragons sense you as one of their own, as you have the soul of a dragon. Or perhaps they sense you are different—which I suppose would be correct. Whatever the case might be, you could be in more danger of being attacked while traveling than another person would."

"She won't be alone," Arenar said in a tone that meant this was undisputable. "I will be going with her."

"Wait a second," Katjaa said. "I haven't even agreed to go."

"But you must!" the Jarl exclaimed. "You can not ignore fate. You are the Dragonborn, like it or not. It is your duty to slay the dragons and your Shouting is the best way to do so. Only the Greybeards can train you."

Katjaa wanted to object. _I don't want to be the Dragonborn; why couldn't it be someone else? _But in her heart she knew that the Nord had to be right, as his race was renowned for knowing the most about dragons. "Fine, I'll go."

"Good. But you won't be alone. And I'm not referring to you, Arenar. You still have a housecarl to pick. Any of the guards are available to your disposal, or anyone else that you deem acceptable."

"I volunteer."

Everyone sitting around the table looked to Lydia, who had been the person that spoke. "Absolutely not!" Jarl Balgruuf shouted.

"Father, this... dragon crisis is bigger than any one person. I want to play my part in defending Skyrim, and I currently see no better way than to protect the Dragonborn," Lydia said.

The Jarl's face was red with anger but his words were calm when he said, "that... is all true. But Katjaa, you have the final say if you want Lydia to be your housecarl."

Katjaa gulped. Jarl Balgruuf was giving her a look that was begging her to reject the proposal, but Lydia's was one that begged the exact opposite. _The Jarl is going to hate me for this. _"I choose Lydia to be my housecarl."

No one spoke. The Jarl simply glared at Katjaa with so much disappointment in his eyes that the Breton felt horrible for not following his wishes. "Okay," he finally said a minute later. He turned to look at his daughter. "Lydia, you have been chosen to protect Katjaa Amarie, a Thane of Whiterun, with your life. Will you serve as her housecarl?"

Lydia nodded.

"Then so be it. Tomorrow you, Katjaa, and Arenar will—"

"And Rimion," the High Elf threw in. "I don't want to go back to the College without bragging about getting to kill a dragon. Plus someone will have to heal you, and Arenar's Restoration magic isn't as strong as mine."

"Very true," Arenar said matter-of-factly.

"I will go as well."

This time the entire table was looking at Kole. He had been silently listening to the meeting ever since Irileth had yelled at him and Rimion, but now he had everyone's attention. "Why?" Arenar asked.

"I helped take down that dragon," Kole reminded everyone, "so I consider myself the second-most knowledgeable when fighting dragons. You will need all the help you can get if another one finds you."

Katjaa couldn't disagree with his logic. "Good point," she said.

"Don't you have a responsibility to lead the Companions?" Arenar asked.

"As I said before, a Harbinger does not lead. And like Lydia said, these dragons are dangerous for everyone. The Companions will be fine without me." He turned his gaze towards Rimion. "He, however, actually does run the College of Winterhold."

Rimion laughed. "You would think so. Most of my official duties I have a close friend of mine take care of. I kept the title of Arch-Mage mostly because it makes me appear wiser."

"Up until someone meets you, that is."

"I knew you had a sense of humor; I just wish you would show it more often." Rimion sat up a little straighter in his chair. "But back to the meeting. I think we should stay at five people, else our group will get too big and we could attract the attention of the Thalmor."

"Why would we worry about that?" Arenar asked.

"The Thalmor want domination over all of Tamriel—Skyrim being one of the more difficult countries for them to obtain. Should the Aldmeri Dominion discover the existence of a Dragonborn, who is, in the eyes of the Nords, a hero without equal chosen by the Nordic gods, they will want to capture or kill Katjaa to prevent further disruption with their plans. Torygg's death already has plenty of High Elves running about, so we'll have to be discreet."

Katjaa gave him a suspicious look. "How do you know so much about the Thalmor?"

Rimion chuckled nervously as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Well... I may have forgotten to mention that my father is a high-ranking Thalmor."

Everyone's expression was clearly shocked by the revelation—Katjaa's being no exception. That was until she looked at Arenar, whose own expression was calm and collected. _He knew? _Katjaa remembered that the two of them were old friends, which made her think that it was likely common knowledge for the Imperial.

"You told me that you are a follower of the Divines," she said once the shock faded away enough for her to speak.

"I am," Rimion said too quickly. "Just... not all of my life. I was promoted to a Thalmor agent a week before the Great War began. Once I saw what the Thalmor were really like during the battle in Leyawiin, I fled with—I mean, I ran away."

Katjaa wasn't sure what it meant, but when Rimion had said "fled with", she saw Rimion steal a glance at Arenar before he corrected himself.

"We all have something in our pasts that we aren't proud of," Jarl Balgruuf said after a silent pause. "It is the present and the future that matters. And the future of Skyrim will be darkened by the return of the dragons. So tomorrow morning, you all will head for Ivarstead. There will be signs along the road that you can follow or Lydia can lead you if she remembers the way."

"That I do," the Jarl's daughter said.

"Good. I'd suggest you all getting a good night's sleep, though the festival will likely continue for several more hours. This meeting is over."

Everyone stood up and exited the office. Rimion made some excuse that Katjaa didn't pay attention to before heading toward his room. As he walked away, she couldn't stop seeing him in the black robes of a Thalmor agent.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Unlike most fanfics that allow the Dragonborn an infinite usage of Shouting, I am using a variation of the timer from the actual game. Katjaa can Shout as often as she likes, but with each one will be weaker than the last and will tire her out. Once she actually gets training from the Greybeards and kills more dragons she will be able to use Shouts more frequently.**

**The next two or three chapters will all take place immediately after the meeting. Mostly they will be used to add more backstory.**

**As always, thanks to harmoniedusoir for being an awesome beta-reader. Also as always, leave me a review. **


	21. Chapter 21: The Former Thalmor

**CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: THE FORMER THALMOR**

**Rimion**

"This meeting is over."

Everyone stood up, though Rimion moved slower than anyone else. Farengar remained behind in his office while the others left it, again with Rimion lagging behind. He felt horrible for not revealing his past earlier, especially to Katjaa, who seemed to be more upset by the news than anyone else had been. _It's not like I am a Thalmor now... _

Arenar and Katjaa were walking side-by-side towards the doors, likely to go back to the festival. Rimion, however, just wanted to be alone. "I'm gonna hit the hay. See you in the morning."

Arenar looked over his shoulder and nodded, though when Katjaa turned around she instead looked at everything but Rimion.

Rimion sighed and proceeded towards the guest room the Jarl had given him. He half expected a dagger to be shoved into his back but one never came. He entered his room—which was conveniently located right across the hall from Katjaa's room—and started to disrobe himself. Underneath his highly-enchanted robes that he had inherited from the last Arch-Mage he wore only a pair of cloth pants.

He placed the robes on the dresser that his new staff was propped up against. He had chosen a Staff of Magelight from Farengar's vast inventory of staves, which had prompted the court wizard to laugh about "such a ridiculous choice." Magelight was one of the most simple spells to cast, but was also the only one that Rimion's father had never forced him to learn. _Now I never have to. _

The Altmer shuffled over to his king-sized bed and flopped on to it face-first. The soft pillows cushioned the impact but suffocated him a little bit so he flipped over and stared at the ceiling. Rimion traced the lines above him but was bored by it right away.

He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but just as he was starting to feel drowsy a loud knocking banged against his bedroom door. "Who's there?"

A muffled female voice responded from out in the hallway. "It's Lydia."

Rimion smiled, which surprised him a little bit. "Coming."

He walked over to the door and threw it open. The young Nordic woman was wearing a thin brown shirt and black pants with her hair tied back in a ponytail, revealing more of her beautiful face than during the dragon fight.

Noticing her attire made Rimion remember that he was only wearing pants. "I wasn't expecting a visitor," he used as an excuse.

"That's okay. Can I come in?"

Rimion stepped out of Lydia's way and waved her inside. She did so and leaned against the dresser where his robes were.

"So... not that I am complaining about a beautiful woman visiting me at night," Rimion said as he sat down on the edge of his bed, "but did you need anything?"

Lydia weakly grinned. "Just a couple things. First I wanted to thank you for healing me."

"Oh... well, I had to do that," Rimion teased. "Your father would have been mad at me if I didn't. Or he would have had Farengar do it, and he's better with the theory of magic than the magic itself."

"And I wanted to talk to you about the Thalmor."

Rimion's cheeky smile went away when she said that last word. "I should have said something before. Nothing like the threat of dragons to mention that I hail from a family of pompous elves that think they are better than the world."

"You're nothing like any Thalmor I've ever heard of," Lydia assured him. "None of them make bad jokes or help people with nothing to gain."

"I guess I must be somewhat like my father," Rimion said. "I don't make bad jokes either."

Lydia laughed, which made Rimion feel somewhat better. "Still," she began once the laughter stopped, "I think everyone feels the same way I do. Well, I doubt Kole actually cares. He doesn't seem too fond of you."

"I'm sure it's because he doesn't know me that well yet. Just wait, after however many days of traveling it takes to get to Ivarstead, he'll tolerate me." Rimion looked away from the Jarl's daughter when he said, "I think Katjaa doesn't feel the same way you do either. I already pissed her off within the first few hours I knew her, and now I did it again."

"She's probably more surprised about your past than mad about it," Lydia said, though her tone implied she didn't fully believe her own words.

Rimion shrugged. "Maybe."

"Well, I'm going to head down to the barracks; check on Marko and the other injured guards." She started walking towards the open door.

"Wait," Rimion said just before she exited his room. She turned around to face him then he continued. "I just wanted to say thanks. For coming here and talking to me. I've always tried to avoid my past as it always makes me people see me differently. And you're one of the few people that continued to see me as I really am."

Lydia looked at him in silence for a moment. "People often treat me as my father's daughter. Most of the guards resent me for my high status, thinking that I don't deserve it. I work hard to prove my worth, and still it's not enough. That's the main reason I wanted to become Katjaa's housecarl, because none of them seemed to care about who my father is. I want to help people, but it is difficult when everyone thinks they have to do things for me."

"Guess we're more like than one would think," Rimion pointed out.

"I suppose so. Good night." She turned around and left his room, shutting the door behind her.

Rimion stared at the door for a moment, hoping that Lydia would return to speak with him some more, but after a few minutes he gave up and returned his head to his pillow. As he shut his eyes again to fall asleep he started thinking more about his short amount of time as a Thalmor agent and how he ended up deserting the Aldmeri Dominion during the Battle of Leyawiin.

And the first time he met Arenar.

* * *

War.

Rimion was still not sure how he felt about the upcoming battle. He had guessed something major was going to happen, what with how many soldiers and weapons had been stockpiled onto several boats that were sailing from the Summerset Isles to the mainland of Tamriel, but was only recently given details about why they were sailing. The Aldmeri Dominion had began an invasion, one to secure its power and place across all of Tamriel.

They had entered the swampy country of Black Marsh after a month of sailing. This was only Rimion's second time outside of the Summerset Isles, the first being a trip to Elyswer for political reasons. As the ships docked and began unloading, Rimion tried to sneak his way off of the ship he was on without running into his father, but just as he was about to step off the ship, he accidentally bumped into Tarene. His father, Tarene Volanare, was 431-years-old, but his face was ageless like all the other elves on board. Rimion and his father looked alike for the most part, though Tarene was slightly more muscular than his son.

"Father," Rimion said as he respectfully—yet timidly—bowed. "Sorry. I wasn't watching where I was going." _Otherwise I would have avoided you._

"Son," Tarene responded along with a bow of his own. "You need not apologize."

"Oh?" Rimion was confused by this. At this point his father would usually be yelling at him for his mistake.

"I can understand your eagerness. I too am rather excited about the upcoming war," Tarene said with more enthusiasm in his voice than Rimion had ever heard in his life. "We will dominate the lesser races."

Rimion faked a smile. "I am glad to be a part of it, Father." Rimion had been made a Thalmor agent a few days before the ships arrived in Black Marsh. Along with the rank, he received a set of black robes and a Staff of Lightning Bolts.

Tarene's expression turned from one of eagerness to one of suspicion. "I'm happily surprised to hear that. Your treacherous mother must have failed to turn you against us after all."

Rimion gulped. His mother, Dileena, had been secretly teaching him about the other races and how everyone should work together to achieve harmony rather than the Aldmeri Dominion control everything through force. Then fifteen years earlier, Tarene discovered what had been going on and killed his mother. The rest of the Thalmor had congradulated Tarene for stopping her from "destroying us all from the inside." Rimion had to pretend that he had never believed in his mother's words, else his father would have killed him as well.

But it was all an act. "She was foolish to think that we are all equals," Rimion lied with gritted teeth. "This war will prove her wrong."

Tarene nodded approvingly. "The delegates should be entering the Imperial City sometime in the next few days. Once the humans refuse to the terms of their surrender, the heads of all the Blades from the Summerset Isles and Valenwood will be presented as an example of what will come. Then we will begin the attack on Leyawiin—a miserable little city just a few miles away from here."

Rimion's stomach felt a little queazy about the thought of a bunch of severed heads with shocked expressions on their faces. "But what if the Emperor does back down? Then we won't have to fight, right?" he asked while trying to hide his hope of not having to be involved in the battle.

His father laughed, which was a rare occurrence. "If there's one thing that can be said about the race of men, it is that they are predictable. We know that they will reject the proposal, and that's why we will deal the first blow before the Empire can."

"Great," Rimion said, trying to hide his sarcasm. "I can't wait."

The next few days came and went in almost a blink of an eye. Rimion spent most of his time going over the battle plans with his fellow Thalmor agents. The Thalmor would begin the assault on Leyawiin at first light four days after landing in Black Marsh. The main forces would focus on Castle Leyawiin to take out the Count while the remainders would attack the rest of the city, killing or capturing as many people as possible.

Rimion was one of the few agents not assigned to attack the castle. He wasn't sure how to take this, but he supposed it was due to him being a new agent. He would lead one of several groups in attacking the city's barracks in order to get rid of the threat of the guards.

What little time that wasn't used for battle preparation Rimion spent training with his cousin Ondolemar. The younger Altmer was one of the few mer that had the build of a strong warrior, and along with the vicious scar that stretched over his left eye made appear a difficult opponent. His magic was stronger than Rimion's but he had been denied a promotion to agent due to a scandal of him murdering a fellow Altmer. Had Ondolemar not been such an asset for the Thalmor with his powerful magic, he would have likely been put to death for the murder everyone knew he had commited.

"Good luck tomorrow," Rimion said to Ondolemar hours before the battle of Leyawiin would begin. His cousin was apart of a small strike team also composed of a Thalmor agent and a Bosmer that would move from building to building, putting down any resistance the locals would cause. Rimion didn't actually mean this, though he knew that killing humans would bring happiness to his cousin, despite how sick a thought it was.

"I need no luck," Ondolemar spat back at Rimion. "We are the superior race. Tomorrow's battle will prove this."

* * *

The early morning sky was still mostly dark when Rimion was woken up. He groaned, wishing for more sleep than to have to attack the city. But reluctantly he got dressed and joined the massive crowd of mer marching into Cyrodiil.

The sun was barely visible on the horizon when the army halted on the outskirts of Leyawiin. Smaller groups formed from the army, most moving towards the castle while Rimion's group and the others moved towards the city.

An arrow landed at Rimion's feet. He looked up to see that there were some city guards with bows pointed at his group. The others immediately fired Destruction spells at the guards, though Rimion missed them by a small margin as if it had just been an error.

A few fireballs later, all of the opposing guards were dead, but now more were appearing in the streets.

Rimion simply watched in horror as his fellow Thalmor massacred the guards. When he couldn't watch the carnage any longer and turned away from the fight, he noticed Ondolemar's splinter group enter a nearby inn called _The Three Sisters' Inn._

More and more guards spilled out into the open. Rimion was surprised when he saw that not all of the guards were human. Some were Argonians, others were Khajiits. He even spotted a couple of Altmer using their own magic against the Thalmor. A few of the justiciars fell to the guards' own mages, but not enough to slow down the assault.

Rimion also began to see that none of the Thalmor were attempting to capture any prisoners. Some of the guards threw their weapons to the ground and fell to their knees, only to be struck down with lightning bolts or ice spikes.

As the Thalmor pushed deeper into the city, Rimion stayed behind, not wanting to be a part of the massacre. He heard someone breathing from the pile of human bodies; curiosity led him to discover who it was. After carefully moving some of the corpses he found an Imperial who had taken a Destruction spell to the chest and lived. He was wheezing in and out and clutching his burns.

Rimion couldn't stand to see the man in pain. Using his open hand, he conjured up a Restoration spell. The Restoration school wasn't his strongest one, but it would be enough to save the man's life.

The guard opened his eyes and saw Rimion for the first time. The look in his eyes suggested that he knew what was coming. "Go ahead," he said in a defeated voice. "Finish me off."

Rimion frowned. "What?"

"If you have any mercy, you'll end my life now. I'd rather not be tortured to death."

Rimion was appalled by the thought. "Why would I do that?"

The Imperial looked confused. "Why wouldn't you? You're a Thalmor."

"I'm different." Rimion crouched down and moved his hands over the guard's burns. At first the man flinched, likely unaware of what spell Rimion was using. Moments later the skin was mostly repaired, though the guard's expression revealed he was still in some amount of pain. "That's all I could do. Sorry."

Rimion stood up and began walking away to see if there were any other survivors that needed his help. "Sorry?" the man repeated. Rimion turned around to look at him. "You're sorry that you couldn't heal me further?"

Rimion nodded. "We aren't taught much Restoration magic where I come from. Otherwise I would have done a better job."

Still the man looked confused. "Why did you heal me?"

"You were hurt."

"I know that," the man said. "But... I didn't expect any mercy from a Thalmor, much less for one to help me."

Rimion shrugged. "A thank you would have been nice, but I didn't mind healing you." An explosion went of somewhere nearby, obviously the result of a nearby mage. "Do you have anywhere safe to go?"

The man's confusion continued. "Why?"

"The rest of the Thalmor might come back this way. If you're spotted, I doubt that they will heal what I couldn't."

"Good point." The man pushed his way onto his feet, but stumbled on his first step forward. Rimion rushed to his aid and allowed the man to lean on him for support. "I don't think I will make it very far."

"I'll help you," Rimion said. "Just point the way. I've never been here."

"We'll go to my home. It's just down the street." Rimion and the man started walking down the road at a slow pace. They walked in silence for a moment before the man said, "Cidius?"

"What?" Rimion asked.

"That's my name," the man clarified. "Cidius."

"I am Rimion."

"So Rimion... why are the Thalmor here?"

"This is the first step in a plan to expand the Dominion's power across all of Tamriel. I didn't want to be involved with it, but I didn't have much of a choice."

Cidius weakly laughed. "Had you not been here, I probably would have died without seeing my family one more time. You're nothing like any Thalmor I've ever heard of."

"Everyone I've ever met—all of them mer belonging to the Aldmeri Dominion—has such a hate for yours and the other races. I only hate those that have done me wrong," Rimion said.

Cidius pointed to a small building that had partially been destroyed at some point during the battle. "That's my home. I hope everyone is safe."

"As long as they've stayed inside, they should be," Rimion assured him. "Almost all of the Thalmor have been directed to attack either any forces in the barracks or at the castle. Only one group had been directed to enter any buildings, and last I saw they were heading the opposite direction."

"Thank the Divines," Cidius said under his breath. Once at the door he knocked rapidly but softly as not to attract the attention of any nearby Thalmor. "Ladia, it's me. Open the door."

After a series of clicks from inside the house, the door creaked open enough for a hazel eye to peak through the crack at Cidius and Rimion. "Why is there a Thalmor with you?" a female voice, presumably Ladia, asked.

"He's a good man... well, elf. I'd be dead if not for him," Cidius informed her. "Let us in."

The door flung open entirely. Rimion and Cidius quickly passed by the blonde and into what Rimion guessed was the kitchen. Two small children—a boy and a girl—were hiding under it while an older boy of about fifteen years that resembled Cidius stood in the corner with a sword in his hand.

Rimion gently placed Cidius in an empty chair. "Shut the door," Cidius said to his wife once he was seated.

Ladia did as directed, re-locking the door as well. She then quickly moved to her husband's side, giving Rimion a weary look as she passed by him. "What is happening out there?" she asked Cidius.

"A Thalmor invasion. Based on what Rimion"—he pointed at the High Elf when he said his name—"told me, this is the dawn of a war between the Empire and the Aldmeri Dominion."

Rimion nodded, confirming the Imperial's theory. "We should remain hidden in here. If there is a back exit—"

"_We?!_" the boy with a sword practically shouted. "You're a Thalmor; you're the enemy. There is no we."

"Leonde." The boy looked to Cidius when what Rimion assumed was his name left his father's lips. "He saved my life. Should the need to escape come, he will come with us. Should he want to."

Rimion didn't answer right away. In his 197 years he never had to make a choice, and now he was presented with such a life-altering one. _Should I leave everything I've ever known, or give these people away? _Rimion knew that his actions so far had been treason, and that if anyone—let alone his father—would discover what he did that he would be put to death. Unless he made up for the "mistake" and captured the family currently surrounding him.

He looked into the eyes of the boy hiding under the table. The fear of dying by Rimion's hand that filled the young one's eyes told Rimion what his choice would be.

"I'll go with you," Rimion said. "We should wait until the battle is over or someone else tries to get in before we attempt to flee. The Thalmor aren't taking prisoners."

He spent the next couple of hours helping Cidius's family pack up essentials like food, water, and clothing for when they would escape the city. Having nothing of his own to bring with him except for his staff, Rimion offered to carry anything when they would be leaving.

"That would be great," Cidius said, who was now supporting himself with a makeshift crutch. "I won't be able to do much carrying."

"Okay. Well then, I suppose we are just about—"

Rimion went silent when a loud pounding of someone's fist echoed throughout the house. "This is the Thalmor." Rimion cringed when he recognized the voice as Ondolemar's. "If there is anyone inside, lay down your weapons and give yourself up. We won't harm you."

"That's a lie," Rimion whispered. The door handle began to rotate, obviously showing that Ondolemar had no intent to wait. "We have to go. _Now._"

Cidius turned to his family, who was still packing bags. "Come on. Let's go. Leave the bags."

Just as everyone started walking towards the back door, a loud explosion went off behind them. Rimion looked at where the front door had been blown away to see Ondolemar and the Bosmer standing in the doorway, each one with surprised expressions. "Rimion?"

"Ondolemar," Rimion said in a tense tone.

"Where have you been?" his cousin asked. "Your father assumed you dead when we could not find you." Ondolemar's eyes narrowed as if just understanding what was going on. "Are you helping these humans?"

Against his better judgement, Rimion nodded. "These are good people. They don't deserve to die because they are different from us."

"Yes. They. Do." A ball of fire slowly formed in Ondolemar's hand as he continued to speak. "We can forget all about this... mistake of yours if you kill them now. No one will find out, as long as you do your duty as a Thalmor agent. Should you choose to let me down, however..." he trailed off as the fire spell continued to expand in size.

Without hesitation, Rimion let go of his staff and summoned a Paralysis in both hands. He aimed the Illusion spells at Ondolemar and the Bosmer, casting them before the mer could react.

Their bodies stiffened and collapsed to the floor immediately after the spells made contact. "It will only last for a few minutes," Rimion told the Imperial family. Let's go before more come for us."

All of them ran through the front door, though Leonde paused a moment to kick Ondolemar in the head. The buildings around them lay in ruins from the battle, and more bodies of the citizens of Leyawiin lay motionless than Rimion dared to count. _At least there aren't any more Thalmor out here. _

As if on cue, a group of five justiciars appeared around the corner at the opposite end of the street. One of them saw Rimion's group staring at them, who then directed the other four to see them as well.

"Stay behind me," Rimion said as he created the strongest ward he could. "I'll protect—"

From behind the justiciar that first noticed Rimion's group came an Imperial with dark brown hair and the most exquisite sword Rimion had ever seen. It glowed with the familiar color of a fire enchantment as it slid into the body of the justiciar. He screamed as the Imperial kicked him over and moved onto the rest.

"Leonde!"

The young boy raced past Rimion and neared the fight between the Imperial and the justiciars with the steel longsword in his hand held high above his head. Leonde pierced through the armor of one of the mer that had been watching the Imperial.

Rimion followed the boys example and closed in on the fight with another Paralysis in his hand. He threw it at a justiciar that had been inches away from slicing into Leonde's unprotected back. The justiciar grunted as he fell to the ground, but when Leonde turned around to see what had happened, he shoved his sword into the helmet of the paralyzed Altmer.

The Imperial whirled around, dodging a lightning bolt that had been casted by the justiciar closest to him. He advanced too quickly for the Altmer to try another attack and lopped off his adversary's head.

That left one mer remaining. The lonesome justiciar released his elven sword and fell down to his knees as the Imperial stalked over to him. "Please, show mercy."

The Imperial thrust his blade through the pleading mer's face so hard that his sword tore threw the back of the now dead justiciar. "To Oblivion with your mercy."

Rimion arrived at the scene a moment later. "Leonde, you shouldn't have joined in on the fight. You could have—"

Out of the corner of his eye, Rimion saw the Imperial swing his enchanted sword. He backed up just in time to avoid being cut into two, though not fast enough to avoid being grazed. The fire enchantment set his clothes ablaze, but Rimion put it out with a frost spell.

"What are you doing?!" Rimion cried out as he narrowly avoided another attack by the enraged Imperial. His light-blue eyes were filled with so much anger that Rimion was almost scared of what could have made him so angry.

"This!" the Imperial roared as he brought down his sword. Rimion had been trying to heal the fresh wound on his chest and failed to notice the next attack. He only had time to close his eyes to avoid watching his own demise.

The clash of metal against metal rang out in the street. Rimion opened his eyes and saw that Leonde had blocked the Imperial's sword with his own. "Wait!" the younger Imperial shouted.

The fire in the other Imperial's eyes died down slightly when he looked at Leonde. "Why?"

"He isn't a bad Thalmor!" Leonde said. Rimion couldn't help but think how ironic it was that Leonde was the one defending him as he heard the rest of the family getting closer.

"They are all bad!"

"No!" Leonde pointed to Cidius with his free hand. "He healed my father and saved us from two justiciars!"

Again the anger in the Imperial receded some as he spoke to Cidius, now standing by Rimion's side. "Is that true?" he asked. "Did this elf save you?"

Cidius nodded. "My family and I would be dead if he hadn't been there."

The Imperial sighed and lowered his sword. He looked at Rimion and said, "Sorry. It's just been... a really bad day."

"It's been one for all of us." Rimion offered the Imperial his hand. "Rimion Volanare."

"Arenar Krex," the Imperial said as he shook Rimion's hand.

Rimion turned to look at Cidius and his family. "Ondolemar will be up soon. We have to go now." He switched his attention back to Arenar. "You're welcome to join us, provided that you don't try to kill me anymore."

"Thanks," Arenar said. "We should escape into Black Marsh and head north from there. It might be treacherous for him though, what with being on a crutch."

"Anywhere is less treacherous than here," Cidius said.

"We'll have to be careful," Rimion told Arenar. "The Thalmor camp is located just across the border. I'll be able to direct us around it"

"Let's go then," Arenar said as he started up the street.

* * *

Rimion woke up to the sound of knocking on his door. _I don't even remember falling asleep. _There was no window in his room, so he had no idea what time it was. Considering how tired he still felt, he guessed it was early the next morning.

The knocking continued. _Maybe it is Lydia again. _"Coming," he moaned as he rubbed his eyes.

He hopped out of bed and walked over to the door. Rimion was shocked when he opened it and in front of him was Katjaa, wearing her leather armor and a pack on her shoulder. He couldn't read her expression, though it was obvious that their friendship was now strained by his Thalmor past.

"We are leaving in half an hour," she said in a tight voice. "Be at the gates by that time, or you're going to be left behind."

"Katjaa, I—"

She didn't wait for him to finish. The Breton turned and started walking down the hallway, disappearing around the corner before Rimion could put another word in.

Rimion sighed. "I'm sorry," he mumbled to himself.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: For anyone who wants to complain that my description of Ondolemar doesn't match his in game appearance, too bad. I felt this new appearance would better serve Ondolemar's future appearance later on in the story.**

**As always, thanks to harmoniedusoir for being a great beta-reader. This chapter is a little different (and much better, in comparison) that my original draft. You can thank her for that.**

**Leave your reviews below. Pleeeeeeease.**


	22. Chapter 22: Jorrvaskr

**CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: JORRVASKR**

**Kole**

"This meeting is over."

Kole stood up and left the room faster than anyone else, partly due to him being closest to the door. Though he mostly just wanted to get back to Jorrvaskr as soon as he could.

"I'm gonna hit the hay," he heard Rimion say somewhere behind him. "See you in the morning."

The Harbinger looked to see that the High Elf had been talking to Arenar and Katjaa. The Imperial acknowledged him, though the Breton glanced back so quickly that Kole wasn't sure she had seen Rimion._ She seems rather upset. _Kole didn't care about the Arch-Mage's past or who he had been. Kole hardly cared for the elf in general.

He swung the doors to Dragonsreach wide open, not bothering to close them since Arenar and Katjaa had also been walking towards the exit. The festival was still going on strong, and considering the cheers he heard coming from Jorrvaskr so was the fighting competition. Kole had wanted to spill blood like the others, but no one had dared to challenge him.

_At least these Nords are wise. _

Once he was back in the crowd of observers—who were watching a fight between one of the Gray-Manes and Farkas—he returned to where he had left Dog and Aela. Dog was still there, watching the fight as intensely as anyone else, though Aela couldn't be found.

He looked around in the crowd, guessing that she had moved to get a better vantage point. The search ended in failure, as he still couldn't find her.

He did, however, find Vilkas laughing nonstop as he watched his younger brother pummel the other Nord. Kole moved closer to him, hoping to learn more about his girlfriend's whereabouts.

"Vilkas," Kole had to say loudly to get the man's attention. Once the Nord was looking at Kole he asked, "where is Aela?"

Vilkas pointed at Jorrvaskr. "Inside. She went in as soon as you left for Dragonsreach."

"Thanks." Kole whistled for Dog and left the crowd once the hound was at his side. As the two of them walked towards the mead hall, Kole was wondering if Katjaa had been correct about Aela being upset. After the dragon fight, he had returned to Jorrvaskr to sleep, having not done so for almost a whole day. Before going to bed he had ran into his girlfriend, though she had seemed happy that he was back. Then once he had woken up about half an hour before the fighting tournament began, she still had appeared happy.

Jorrvaskr was empty, save for a grumpy Athis who was nursing his wounds he had received from the old Nordic woman. The Dark Elf looked up with a bloody rag pressed against his nose when Kole entered. "How did the contract go?" Athis asked.

"Not bad. The Jarl paid me three hundred Septims for completing it. I also got a new set of armor."

"I saw it when you came back this morning," Athis said. "Was that a wolf's head engraved into the cuirass?"

"Yes."

"Kinda poetic, don't you think?" Athis chuckled. "Your reward for hunting down a werewolf was armor with a wolf on it."

Kole silently nodded. Like most of the Companions, Athis didn't know that the Harbinger and Aela were werewolves. Other than a few exceptions, only the Circle had been entrusted with this secret, though only because Vilkas and Farkas had once been werewolves themselves before giving up the gift like Kodlak had. The Silver Hand had also known, but they were, for the most part, disbanded these days. Still, Kole thought the fact that the Companions had been hired to hunt down a rogue werewolf terrorizing Falkreath seemed like way too much of a coincidence to be one.

Of course, no one but Kole knew all of the details about how the contract had been completed. Kole had been hunting Sinding, the werewolf who had slaughtered a young girl from Falkreath, in the woods outside of the small city. This proved more difficult than he had expected as Sinding was able to keep up his beast form the whole four days of hunting without feeding on fresh blood, which was the main way that the beast blood could continue to support the werewolf form. Kole hadn't been sure how Sinding could do this until he eventually cornered the mad beast and killed him.

On Sinding's finger had been the Ring of Hircine, an ancient relic Kole's father had created as a gift to those devoted to him. As an extra bonus for those with beast blood, it enabled the wearer an unlimited usage of his or her werewolf form, which explained how Sinding had kept it up for four days straight. Kole had seen the ring as a reward for the kill, but before he could remove it from Sinding, it magically appeared on his hand, then dead werewolf began to shrink and glow so brightly Kole had to look away.

Once the light had faded, Sinding was gone. And in his place had been the Savior's Hide. "Huh," was all Kole had said.

Another glowing light had appeared behind, though it wasn't nearly as blinding and took the shape of a stag. "Well done," it said to him in the voice of Hircine.

Kole fell to one knee and bowed to his father. "Father, this is... an unexpected visit."

"This is not a visit. I merely wanted to thank you for killing this mad beast." The stag moved closer, as if wanting a better look at Kole. "He had stolen the ring to control his shifting. Little did he know that thieves aren't rewarded with the same abilities as someone who earns the ring. I froze him in the form of a werewolf, the first time he tried to sustain the beast form, and spoke to him, whispering in his ear about his damnation."

Kole nodded approvingly. "As it should be."

"Now you, however, have earned the right to wear my ring, as well as the Savior's Hide," Hircine said.

"Thank you, Father. I will treasure these gifts for all time."

The stag snorted. "Maybe not all time."

"What do you—" Kole stopped talking when he saw that the ghostly stag was gone. _What was that about? _Not having an answer to his own question, Kole removed his leather armor and replaced with the Savior's Hide before heading back to Falkreath to collect the money for completing the contract.

Kole looked around the main hall of Jorrvaskr, searching for Aela. The low lighting of the dwindling fire that sat in the middle of the room made this difficult, but a quick shift of his eyes allowed him to examine the room in more detail with his enhanced beast vision. The Ring of Hircine had allowed him to target individual parts of his body to shift, an ability no one else possessed, as far as Kole was aware. Normally he wouldn't risk prematurely showing his beast side in front of a Companion outside of the Circle, but Athis was too preoccupied with his injuries to notice.

Once he concluded that Aela wasn't in the room, he shifted his eyes back to normal and asked, "did Aela come through here?"

Athis looked up, but he didn't answer right away. "Yeah... about fifteen minutes ago. But..."

After a moment of silence Kole repeated, "but...?"

"I could have sworn she was crying," Athis said slowly, as if he didn't believe his own words. "I can't say for certain though. When I asked her about it, she ignored me."

Kole guessed that Athis was wrong. He had never once seen Aela cry in the few months he had known her. Even after his first night running through Skyrim as a werewolf, when Skjor's mutilated body was found in Krev the Skinner's lair, she didn't shed a tear, despite obviously caring a great deal for the Companion.

_Maybe Katjaa _was _right. Maybe Aela is upset. _

"So where is she now?" Kole asked.

Athis pointed to the stairs that led down to the living quarters of Jorrvaskr. "She went down there."

Kole proceeded towards the stairs with Dog at his heels. He noticed that the living quarters were much more lit up than the main hall had been, but still he couldn't see Aela. He moved a little further down the hallway, waving to Tilma the Haggard who was sweeping in the bunk room of the lower-ranking members of the Companions.

He was halfway to his and Aela's room when he first heard the crying. It was soft, as if whoever was doing it did not want to be bothered. _I guess Athis wasn't wrong after all. _Kole slowed down so he wouldn't make any loud noises as he moved closer to the room that had once been Kodlak's.

A single candle sitting on a dresser illuminated the room enough for Kole to see Aela sitting on the bed. She was holding her stomach as she lightly cried.

"Aela?" Kole whispered.

Aela turned and saw Kole for the first time. She quickly wiped away the tear rolling down her face as she turned to him. He didn't notice that she wasn't wearing her normal war paint until then, which was probably because the tears would have smeared it. "So," she said in a strained voice, "what was happening in Dragonsreach?"

"There was a meeting," Kole began, pretending not to notice Aela rubbing her eyes for her sake. "The Dragonborn is to travel to the Greybeards tomorrow morning. The Jarl's daughter and the Arch-Mage are going too, as is Katjaa's Imperial friend."

Surprisingly, Aela laughed, though it was weak and half-hearted. "When that Breton came to Jorrvaskr a few days ago, I never imagined her to be Dragonborn. Then again, according to your account, neither did she."

"I am going also," Kole said.

Aela's laughter died. "Oh," she sighed. "But you just got back."

"Farengar thinks that the dragons are attracted to Katjaa. I volunteered to go with her and the others, in the event another dragon needs to be killed."

The room was quiet for a while. "I... I need to tell you something," Aela eventually mumbled under her breath. She scooted over on the bed, allowing space for Kole to sit down next to her.

Kole didn't budge from the doorway. "What is it?" he asked in a gentle tone—one he was not accustomed to.

Aela stared at him for a minute, as if she was wondering what she would say. "I'm... I'm pregnant."

Now it was Kole's turn to be silent. After his initial shock went away, he asked, "how do you know?'

"The day you left for the contract in Falkreath, I went to Arcadia's Cauldron, the alchemist shop down in the marketplace. I had missed my period by about two weeks by then. I knew that Arcadia had a potion that would tell me if I was pregnant or not and, well, I didn't get the 'not' result."

Kole suddenly realized something. "When I met Katjaa outside of the city gates, she mentioned that you had looked upset. This is what she meant, isn't it?"

Aela nodded. "The potion took a few days to come back with a result; the Dragonborn came here an hour after I got a positive result."

Kole walked over to the bed and sat down next to Aela. She rested her head on his shoulder, which seemed to relax her. "I can't believe I'm going to be a mother," she said as Kole began combing his fingers through her long red hair. "Most of the women around here either have kids immediately or never; I always wanted to be the latter."

Kole almost wanted to laugh. _I'm two hundred and twenty-five years old. That's significantly higher than your twenty-four years on Tamriel. _Seeing Aela, who had never shown weakness prior to tonight, made Kole want to tell her about being the son of Hircine. He knew that, if she believed him, that she would accept him for it. Still, Kole was afraid—a feeling he hadn't felt in over a hundred years—that she would reject him.

Instead he told her, "you will be a great mother, and I a great father." A question popped into his head. "Will the child be a werewolf?"

He waited for Aela to answer, but he found her sleeping in his arms once he looked down. Kole smiled—another rarity that had been brought about with his short time in Tamriel. He kissed her forehead then eased her down onto the mattress.

"Kole?"

The Harbinger looked over his shoulder to see Athis standing in the doorway. He moved from the bed to the Dark Elf and asked, in a quiet voice as to not disturb Aela, "What is it?"

"There is an Imperial upstairs," Athis answered after Kole entered the hallway and shut his bedroom door. "Name's Arenar. He wants to speak to you."

"Did he say why?"

Athis shook his head. "Want me to get rid of him?"

Kole sighed. "No, it's fine." He started down the hallway towards the stairs. "It better be important though."

Athis followed him until they passed by the bunk room. "I'm going to retire for the night. Wake me up if you need any help dealing with Arenar."

_That must be a joke. _Kole continued up the stairs, only noticing that Dog had stayed behind at his room when he went to shut the door separating the two levels of Jorrvaskr.

Arenar was waiting patiently in a seat previously having been pushed under the dining table. Though Kole hadn't thought too much about the Imperial when the two of them first met, helping him ground the dragon and seeing him slay it had earned Kole's respect, despite the Harbinger's small amount of jealousy for not getting kill the beast himself.

"Those chairs are reserved for Companions," Kole said, ignoring his previous thought about Arenar.

Arenar looked around before turning back to Kole and announcing, "I don't think anybody else was using it. Still..." he got out of the chair and pushed it in, "your house, your rules."

Kole stopped a few feet away from Arenar and commented, "I'm surprised Katjaa isn't here. From what I've seen, you two are inseparable."

"We walked around the festival for a while, but she didn't seem too into it," Arenar explained. "Katjaa decided to return to Dragonsreach to get plenty of sleep before tomorrow."

"She going to be alright? With Rimion, I mean?"

Arenar shrugged. "I'm not sure. Rimion's a great guy, and he's nothing like the Thalmor. I just hope she realizes that sooner rather than later."

"Great guy might be stretching it," Kole said. "His magic is strong and reliable, but he's a bit of a bother. Especially to me."

The Imperial smiled. "Rimion bothers you _because _he knows how much it annoys you. He wants to be your friend; it's not his fault you're making it difficult."

"I don't need more friends," Kole told him. "Now, what brings you here?"

Arenar's smile turned into a more neutral expression. "I wanted to make sure you wouldn't cause any problems while we are traveling to Ivarstead. We'll have enough to worry about with the dragons."

Kole's brow narrowed in frustration as he said in a cold tone, "I don't take wild accusations lightly. Speak plainly or get out."

Arenar nodded. "Fine. I saw your arms when we were on the dragon's back, and that confirmed my earlier suspicion that you are a werewolf. I wanted—"

Kole appeared in front of Arenar in an instant, his arm bristling with black fur and prepared to strike the Imperial's throat. He had nothing to hide now. "This information does not leave this room. Should a hunter come for me, you best be as far away as you can," Kole warned. "That way you can enjoy as much of your life as you can before I track you down."

Arenar looked overall unfazed by Kole's threat, which annoyed the Harbinger. "I didn't plan on spreading it around," he said. "I've had bad experiences with werewolves in the past; I just wanted to ensure you wouldn't be another one."

"I won't, unless you don't keep your mouth shut." Kole shifted his arm back to normal and returned it to his side. "There is another werewolf here, and I care more for her well being than my own. So she better remain safe, and that depends on you."

He nodded, possibly understanding that Kole had referred to Aela. "The only way the others will find out will be on your terms." Arenar started towards the door as he said, "I best be on my way to bed. Katjaa wants to leave as early as possible, and I'm hoping to not be tired in the event of another dragon."

Curiosity made Kole call out to the Imperial just as his hand landed on the doorknob. "Wait." Arenar turned around to look at Kole as he continued speaking. "You said you had suspicions of me being a werewolf before you saw me shift. What were they?"

"Well, it was actually only one thing," Arenar clarified.

"Which was?"

"Originally I only suspected you of being a worshiper of Hircine, what with you having the Ring of Hircine."

Kole was more confused than informed by his words. "How did you recognize this as the Ring of Hircine? Have you seen it in a book or something."

Arenar shook his head. "I know it's the Ring of Hircine because I was once offered it. Killed the previous owner then it attached itself to me. But I got rid of it 'cause I wasn't too fond of the Daedric Prince of the Hunt at that moment in time."

_That sounds like how I got the ring. _Despite the similar stories, Kole knew Arenar had to be lying. "I know for a fact that no one has been offered the ring—or has stolen it, in the case of the werewolf I got it from—in over two hundred years. So, how did you really know this was the Ring of Hircine?"

For a brief second, Arenar's expression made him appear much older—as if his face suddenly matched Kole's real age. It returned to its normal appearance as he spoke. "Just a hunch, really. I've got a nephew who hunts monsters—ogres, vampires, and the occasional werewolf. Maybe he told me what the ring looked like, in case I ever ran into it, and I forgot." He gave a weak grin as he continued. "Thought I should make the truth sound less dull, is all."

"Less dull indeed," Kole responded.

Arenar opened the door closest to the rest of Whiterun. "Night," he said as he closed the door behind him.

Kole stood still for a moment, trying to determine if perhaps Arenar hadn't been lying the first time he explained about his knowledge of the ring. "No," he muttered to himself. "Father wouldn't lie."

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: My beta-reader harmoniedusoir (who is an awesome beta-reader, as I've mentioned before) thinks that this chapter needs more backstory for Kole. I agree that Kole needs more backstory, but even revealing small amounts at a time risks telling too much important details. That is why I've decided to do a prequel titled "The Son of Hircine" which will, obviously, revolve around Kole. The first chapter should be up in a few days, should you want to read it.**

**Next chapter has already been mostly written, and is going to be a short one. I had a little bit of writer's block on how they should leave Whiterun, so I am going to do it as simple as possible. Then after that will be one more Kole chapter before the group arrives in Ivarstead.**

**For anyone who is interested, I slightly changed the Prologue to better fit the story. Originally this was going to be a story about Arenar being the Dragonborn, though it changed to Katjaa being the Dragonborn in Chapter Four. Because of this I had to fix parts of the Prologue, though nothing important enough that if you don't read the changes that you won't understand what is happening.**

**Leave a review and you can get a sneak peak into "The Son of Hircine-Chapter One." Or leave a review because I've asked you to do it twenty-two times.**


	23. Chapter 23: Ivarstead

**AUTHOR'S FIRST NOTE: I changed the size of Ivarstead since I felt it was too important of a village to be much smaller than, say, Riverwood. **

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: IVARSTEAD**

**Lydia**

After four days of traveling, the small village of Ivarstead could finally be seen on the horizon. Most of the group seemed to collectively breathe a sigh of relief since they hadn't been attacked by a dragon during the journey. The only trouble they had was on the second day when they had come across a pair of ancient towers that had been harboring a clan of bandits, though even that encounter hadn't been entirely difficult.

Lydia, on the other hand, was discouraged by the small amount of opposition they had faced. She felt she still hadn't proven herself to be a good housecarl, having only been the guide to Ivarstead on a route that had sings that could have pointed the way.

"When I heard that Ivarstead was at the base of the Throat of the World and High Hrothgar, I imagined it to be much bigger," Rimion commented as they approached the stone bridge separating the group from the village.

Nobody responded to him. Tensions were high, especially between Rimion and Katjaa. She still hadn't spoken directly to him since he had revealed his Thalmor past, which had caused the others to do very little speaking of their own. _I'm surprised she allowed him to come with us. _

Lydia, however, felt her heart skip a beat whenever she looked into his gentle eyes.

As they began crossing the bridge, Lydia immediately knew something was wrong. It was still daylight but there were very few people outside—most of them were guards wearing the emblem of The Rift on their shields. Lydia had removed the sash of her own guard armor and had replaced her wooden shield with a steel one to make her less likely to be connected to Whiterun and her father, but it was clear that she wouldn't have to worry about it in Ivarstead.

A couple of buildings in the small village had collapsed or had been burned down. Black marks scarred the ground and the remaining six or seven buildings. Each of the ten or so people who were outside was constantly looking up, as if expecting the sky to fall on them and destroy Ivarstead even further.

"A dragon's been here," Kole said just as Lydia guessed it herself. His dog, which Kole apparently just called 'Dog', had come with the group on the trip. He scanned the air as well, possibly looking for one of the flying beasts.

They continued across the bridge with Lydia still leading the group. Of the remaining buildings, she observed, there was a general goods store and a rather small inn._  
_

"These people don't know how lucky they are," Arenar commented. "The dragon in Helgen wasn't nearly as conservative as the one that attacked here."

"It's because of me," Katjaa whispered with a stunned expression on her face. "Farengar was right, I _do _attract the dragons."

"We still don't know that," Arenar said, his arm resting gently on her shoulders in a comforting manner. "The dragon could have came for the Greybeards. They're the only ones who can use the Voice, other than you."

Katjaa frowned. "Then why wouldn't it burn down High Hrothgar? Why attack a defenseless village instead?"

Arenar didn't answer. Instead Rimion said, "you shouldn't blame yourself for something that you didn't intend to happen, or possibly didn't cause. After all, that's why I'm here."

The Breton stopped dead in her tracks and turned to face him. "Are you really surprised that when you told us you belong to an organization of murderous High Elves that I didn't take it lightly?!" she shouted.

"_Belonged. _Past tense," Rimion corrected her. "That was thirty years ago, and even back then I regretted not speaking out against my father and the other Altmer." He looked down at his feet when he added, "I've shamed my mother by not doing so."

Katjaa's hateful glare seemed to die down a little when Rimion showed sorrow for his actions. She sighed. "I suppose I shouldn't have reacted so harshly, especially when I don't know all of the details."

"Just do what I do," Kole added in a teasing tone—one that sounded odd coming from his mouth. "Hate him for every other reason he's offered."

Rimion smiled as he looked up. "That's your third joke. I suspect the more time we spend together, the more alike we'll become."

"Gods I hope not."

"Four!"

Kole shook his head. "No really, I hope not."

Lydia turned around to face Ivarstead when she heard the steady sound of footsteps getting closer. She found it was a guard that had been walking towards the group. He stopped a couple paces away and with a helmeted face he said, "word spread from Whiterun that the Dragonborn was coming here. Are you her?"

Lydia shook her head. "Not me."

The guard cocked his head in confusion. "Oh? I suppose the Dragonborn decided to take her time then."

He started walking back to Ivarstead without another word. Katjaa stepped forward and yelled, "I'm the Dragonborn!"

"You spent all that time complaining about being the Dragonborn, then you readily announce it?" Kole asked.

The guard looked back and scoffed. "Good one. A Breton Dragonborn. The gods must have a sense of humor." He chuckled as he continued back towards the village.

"Bastard," Katjaa mumbled under her breath. "I might not want to be the Dragonborn, but they should at least see me as one." Her expression looked dark, as if she was planning to prove the laughing Nord wrong.

Arenar placed his hand on her shoulder. "Katjaa, it's fine. He's probably just stressed out about the dragon attack. I'm sure he didn't mean to be rude."

"I guess," Katjaa said, her features releasing the surprising large amount of anger that had built up in just a few seconds. "I must have gotten used to every Nord in Whiterun wanting to either shake or kiss my hand."

"I enjoy being pampered as well," Rimion joked as they continued moving again. "Damn shame it doesn't happen often."

* * *

The _Vilemyr Inn _was much larger on the inside than it had looked from the outside. It wasn't easy to tell at first since the building was packed with people. Lydia guessed that most of the current renters were those who had their homes destroyed during the dragon attack. Out of the six tables scattered across the main room, only one wasn't occupied.

"I don't think we are going to get a room here." Lydia had to speak loudly to be heard over the noise of so many other people talking. "Maybe we should begin climbing the Seven Thousand Steps tonight."

Arenar yawned. "I wouldn't get far before passing out. We could camp outside though."

"No," Katjaa said. "There could be a room open somewhere. Besides, these Nords won't say no to the Dragonborn."

Arenar, who had looked a little drowsy since he had volunteered the night before to watch over the others as they slept, suddenly seemed awake as he said, "you shouldn't take advantage of these people. Their homes have been destroyed. It wouldn't be right to make them also lose their rooms."

"It wouldn't be right to deny their hero such a simple request," Kole added.

Katjaa began to walk towards the bar where the innkeeper was pouring mugs of ale. Lydia and the others reluctantly followed her, though Arenar appeared distressed about her sudden burst of aggressiveness, similar to the one she had when the group had been on the bridge.

The innkeeper, a Nordic man that Lydia guessed was in his early forties, looked up when Katjaa cleared her throat so loudly it had sounded almost like a distant dragon roaring.

"Yeah?" he asked.

"We would like five rooms. If you can't spare that many, then give us as many as you can," Katjaa answered while she was digging through her coin purse.

The innkeeper placed the mugs aside and said, "okay. That will be ten Septims."

"Ten?" Katjaa repeated. "Your rooms are awfully cheap. But I suppose-"

"There's only one room left," the innkeeper interrupted. "It'll be a bit of a squeeze, but it's yours if you want it."

"Are you sure there aren't anymore rooms for the Dragonborn and her allies?" Katjaa asked.

The innkeeper looked more annoyed than happy to learn who Katjaa was, which was surprising in comparison to almost every Nord in Whiterun, including Lydia's father. "Sure, if you would have killed the dragon or stopped it from smashing Ivarstead into dust." He quickly followed that up with, "if you really are the Dragonborn."

Katjaa's face expressed speechlessness, but it didn't last long. "Not really the Dragonborn? I would have killed your dragon had I been here, of that you can have no doubt."

"Maybe a little bit of doubt," Rimion mumbled quietly.

"And another thing," Katjaa continued. "Perhaps in the future, it would be wise to show some respect to your betters. Had the gods blessed you with the soul and blood of a dragon, I certainly wouldn't have written it off as a lie."

"And let me tell you something," the innkeeper growled as he leaned so close to Katjaa's face that their noses were almost touching. "Should you want my respect, you earn it. Other Nords might drop to their knees in your presence, but until you can prove yourself, you won't be seeing me do it.

"Now order some food, get a drink, or get out. I won't have you taking up space for free."

Katjaa's face was a dark red, but before she could speak—or, more likely, yell—at the innkeeper any further, Arenar quickly said, "we'll have five glasses of mead and anything you have to eat." He placed a few Septims on the bar. "If you could have them sent to our table, that'd be great."

The innkeeper grabbed the coins and nodded. "Be right out," he told them as he began filling some glasses.

The group walked over to the empty table and sat down. Dog found a spot next to Kole's chair after eating some scraps from the tables around them. Katjaa still looked furious as she cursed the innkeeper under her breath. "So I guess killing dragons is the only way to get respect around here."

Rimion slapped Arenar on the shoulder. "That means they'll love you. Maybe you can—"

"Maybe you can use that ring of yours to get us some more rooms," Katjaa suggested to Arenar. "That way we won't have to spend another night outside."

"I don't know," Arenar muttered. "I don't like messing with people's minds. I try to use the ring as little as possible."

"What ring?" Lydia asked, wanting to have some idea of what the two of them were talking about."

Arenar removed his steel gauntlet, revealing a peculiar ring decorated with the shapes of a yellow star and a silver crescent moon. "This has an enchantment on it that allows me to convince a person that I should have my way. It works most of the time, but those with strong minds or strong wills might resist its abilities."

Katjaa crossed her arms. "That innkeeper doesn't seem to have a strong mind."

"Why did you get so angry with him?" Arenar asked her as he returned his gauntlet to his hand.

"I'm... not really sure," she said, sounding completely honestly. Her anger was gone, having disappeared as fast as it had appeared. "It just..."

"I might have an explanation for your sudden outbursts," Rimion said.

Kole scowled. "This is going to be another joke, isn't it?"

Rimion shook his head. "Not this time." He returned his attention to Katjaa. "During your hibernation period after the dragon fight, I had decided to have a conversation with Farengar since he seemed to know the most about the dragons. He said that they are intelligent and prideful creatures; that they associate being powerful and being right. Perhaps, since you are—in a sense—a human dragon, you also have this sense of being dominant over others."

Katjaa raised an eyebrow. "Truly? You think that a Nordic wizard who has an obsession with the dragons—a species thought by most to be myths or long extinct—knows everything about them?"

Rimion shrugged. "It's a better explanation than you suddenly deciding to be mean to everyone. After all, you didn't shout at anyone in Whiterun when everyone was worshiping the ground you stood on."

"I'll admit that I've been rather... snappy, I suppose."

"Snappy?" Kole chuckled. "You looked like you wanted to gut that innkeeper. He best hope that you enjoy your meal, else his inn might be burned to the ground."

"I knew you could make jokes about someone other than me," Rimion said. "You just needed some practice."

A waitress came up to the table holding a serving tray with five glasses filled to the top with mead. She handed one to each person as Arenar spoke. "If what Rimion says is true, then you'll probably want to practice not losing your temper every couple of minutes."

Katjaa took a sip of her drink. "I'll try harder in the future to keep my inner dragon from instigating an argument with everyone I meet. I promise."

Arenar looked down at his glass. "You shouldn't make promises you might not be able to keep. You'd be surprised what can happen when a simple promise is broken."

Nobody talked for a few minutes. In that time the waitress brought out bowls of stew. Lydia didn't particularly like the cold, thick soup, but it was a nice change from the amazing food that the cooks in Dragonsreach would make.

After finishing off her meal, Lydia decided it was time to make plans for the next day. "We should probably start climbing the Seven Thousand Steps as early as we can tomorrow morning. Before we do, we should ask the locals about the Greybeards—learn more about these masters of the Way of the Voice."

Rimion gave an over exaggerated gasp. "You're telling us you don't know every minute detail about the Greybeards?! You shame the whole Nordic race!"

"That'll likely cost me a place in Sovngarde," Lydia laughed.

"Sovngarde?" Kole repeated.

Lydia opened her mouth to answer his question but Arenar spoke even faster. "The Nordic afterlife, ruled by Shor, former chieftain of the gods. Only the bravest and most noble men and women that call Skyrim their home are picked to spend eternity in the Hall of Valor—a massive mead hall that houses all of the ancient heroes."

"I'm impressed," Lydia said when Arenar was done talking. "Most of the races don't know so much about beliefs."

Arenar looked astonished. "To be honest, I'm not sure how I knew so much. I read a book about Sovngarde once, but that was ages ago."

"Perhaps you are good at retaining knowledge?" Rimion suggested. He burped loudly then said, "though I don't see myself being good at retaining this meal."

"I've had worse," Kole commented as he fed the bread roll that came with the stew to Dog. "I do, however, prefer freshly killed venison than whatever this was."

"In that case you must not—" Rimion stopped talking. He threw his hood over his head and pulled it down far enough to cover his face. "Nobody panic," he whispered.

"Panic about what?" Katjaa asked.

Rimion pointed in the direction of the door. Everyone but the Arch-Mage looked at the entrance of the inn. The door was open, and directly next to it were three hooded figures dressed in black robes with golden trim. One of them turned enough for Lydia to see that he—and likely the other two as well—were High Elves.

Arenar was the first one to identify them aloud, though Lydia suspected everyone had already known instantly. "The Thalmor," he whispered.

"Were they following us?" Rimion asked with his face looking down at the table.

"They couldn't have been; there's no way they could have known where we were," Lydia said, noticing that Katjaa had her hands on her daggers. For a brief second, Lydia also saw the Breton shoot a suspicious glance at Rimion, as if accusing him of the Thalmor agents. _She must be wrong._

The Thalmor strolled towards the bar with the scent of self-importance surrounding them. One of the elves glanced over at the table the group sat at, though the look in his eyes gave off more of an 'I am better than you' message than an 'I am going to kill you' one.

"You there, Nord," said the elf closest to the innkeeper.

"What?"

"We've heard that a certain individual has come to this horrid settlement," the Thalmor informed him. "As this is the only inn—albeit a poor example of one—in the area, this individual must be coming here or has been here recently."

"This individual is...?"

The elf leaned in closer, and though the inn was loud Lydia could hear him as clear as day. "She is a mad woman, likely of Nordic descent, who has been calling herself 'Dragonborn.'"

"Can't say I've seen a Nordic Dragonborn recently," the innkeeper admitted. "Guess you can go now."

Another elf spoke up. "Has there been anyone of any race that referred to themselves as the Dragonborn?"

"Yes."

A moment of silence between the innkeeper and the Thalmor ended when the first elf said, "well who is it?"

"There was a woman—a Breton—who stormed in here and demanded a room. A nasty temper, that one."

"What a dirty rat," Lydia heard Katjaa mumble. "I should have known he would sell us out."

"Is that Breton still here?"

The innkeeper shook his head. "Nah. She left when I told her I had no more rooms. Said to her companions that they were going to keep heading south for Riften until they could find a place 'more suited to their needs.'"

Kole chuckled. "Dirty rat indeed. Seems he just saved your skin."

"What did the Breton look like? And what kind of companions were with her?" the second elf asked.

"She was in her late thirties with short blond hair and pale skin. She had a tribal tattoo under her left eye. Her steel armor was rusted in a few spots but her greatsword was brand new," the innkeeper lied with a calm expression.

"And her companions?"

"An Argonian, two Orcs, and a Dark Elf. Nothing about them really stood out, so that's about the best I can give you."

The second elf rubbed his chin. "What an odd assortment. But thank you nonetheless." He placed a coin purse that looked heavy in front of the innkeeper. "Here's a small gift from the Aldmeri Dominion. I'm sure this is a proud day for you."

The innkeeper smiled as he accepted the coin purse. "A proud day it is."

Two of the Thalmor, the ones that had been talking, began walking towards the door. The third one, who had the most muscular frame for a High Elf that Lydia had ever seen, remained still. He shook his head, almost as if disappointed in his fellows. "Idiots," he said in an angry tone.

"That voice..." Arenar whispered.

"Oh gods. It can't be!' Rimion exclaimed in a quiet voice.

The muscular Thalmor lowered his black hood. He looked like a generic Altmer with his pale yellow skin and amber eyes. That was until Lydia saw the sickening scar running across his left eye. "Jarl Balgruuf's daughter was traveling with the false Dragonborn," he told the smirking innkeeper. "You didn't mention a Nord in your list of her companions."

The innkeeper shrugged. "I guess she wasn't with them anymore."

"Maybe," the Thalmor said unconvincingly. "Well, we know where to find you, should we have anymore questions about the false Dragonborn."

He turned around and started for the door. Halfway there the elf paused before returning his attention to the innkeeper. "It'd be a shame if this place was razed to the ground. And I don't mean by a dragon."

The elf left the _Vilemyr Inn _moments later. As the door shut behind him, Rimion inhaled a large amount of air. It wasn't until then that Lydia realized he hadn't been breathing since the Thalmor agent revealed his face.

"Guess I should go thank the innkeeper," Katjaa said as she stood up and proceeded towards the bar.

Lydia looked at Rimion, whose face expressed horror, and then Arenar, whose face expressed shock. "What's wrong with you two?" she asked._  
_

"You'll have to be more specific than that. There's a lot of things wrong with Rimion," Kole joked.

For once, Rimion didn't make a big deal out of the Harbinger making a joke. Instead he said, "I can't believe it. That was—"_  
_

"The Altmer that killed Lielle," Arenar cut in.

"_He _was the Thalmor that killed Lielle?!" Rimion asked.

Arenar nodded slowly.

"Who is Lielle?" Lydia asked.

Neither of them answered her. "Did you know that elf?" Arenar asked Rimion.

Rimion hesitated. "Yes. His name is Ondolemar. He was a vicious bastard back when I still lived in the Summerset Isles, and I imagine he still is."

Arenar jumped out of his chair and pulled his steel longsword out of its sheath. "I'll be back."

"You can't kill him!" Rimion shouted.

"_Why not!_" Arenar roared loudly with a deadly look in his eye. Lydia spilled some of her mead due to the sudden outburst. Even Kole seemed surprised. "_He killed the only woman I've loved! Why should I not take his own life?_"

"Arenar."

The Imperial dropped his sword. He turned to face Katjaa, who had spoken his name from the bar. She looked so concerned, so sad to see Arenar lose control of himself. He, in turn, looked upset with his own actions.

Katjaa moved towards him slowly, as if expecting him to suddenly massacre all the occupants inside the inn with his bare hands. She wrapped her armors around him in a warm embrace. He rested his head on her shoulders and, to Lydia's great surprise, began to cry while Katjaa patted his back and whispered softly in his ear.

"Want to make a joke now?" Kole asked Rimion in a harsh tone.

Rimion didn't answer.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S SECOND NOTE: I want to thank the user 'CodeRubicon' for giving me the idea of Katjaa's dragon soul causing her to act in a manner similar to dragons. I suspect that will cause some mischief.**

**I also want to thank harmoniedusoir for beta-ing this chapter as well as the first chapter of my new story "The Son of Hircine." It will not be as long as this story (likely it will be less than ten chapters long) but it will provide plenty of insight to Kole's past. If you want to read it, go to my profile. It will be easy to find since it is only my second story I've written.**

**Shameless plug-in aside, leave me a review. Those that review will receive one virtual cookie and a high-five.**


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